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the word sufra

is                table


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


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  

to refuse

sufra which now scatters

bright meaning through

me   like a prism


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


I grasp     finally     table’s true inhabitant

sufra is      embrace


opening wide only after

do you hear me


I offer hospitality

to the scarred and scared selves

that navigate dark seas

that buoy me

through darknesses


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


table at last

is                sufra

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