
the word sufra
is               table
Â
but it is when I am across the sea from the tables I have known
that sufra opens
and I discover
not like Columbus
encountering a country
without ever grasping
it was already populated
I discover sufra
is hospitality
 Â
the word sufra is    yes
a flat surface used for food
now after all these years
of eating moored at the sink
a writer who sits too much
my excuse
to refuse the table Â
to refuse
sufra which now scatters
bright meaning through
me  like a prism
Â
worlds unfurl from words
worlds unfurl into words
either and both
there are countries
secreted in syllables
meanings beyond the initial horizons
I had limited them to
before knowing what
seems plain planed constrained denotation
waits to detonate into connotation
Â
I grasp    finally    table’s true inhabitant
sufra is     embrace
Â
opening wide only after
do you hear me
Â
I offer hospitality
to the scarred and scared selves
that navigate dark seas
that buoy me
through darknesses
Â
when I extend sufra
to my shipwrecked selves
at the shore
anchor in my own harbor
in the country of self
and feast at the table
of my making
Â
table at last
is               sufra
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