SLAM!

"Under the Table" 

In early childhood,
as muted as a ghost,
I burrowed under the tables
to doodle and make up ditties, dodging
pain, harsh words, shattering
crystal, a family's fading with Daddy's
absence when he moved to his mother's,
and Mama, smoothing the wrinkles
on her skirt, said: "She needs him more,"
but one day, Daddy
knocked on the door and asked
for his radio, while I fidgeted
under the table in the hallway.
Mama, shoving him
a cardboard box, squeaked:
"Won't you see your daughter?"
The place grew still
until Daddy said:
"Ain't important."
Ever since that day,
I've been trying to improvise
my importance.




                                        Good Luck Everyone