Seven tables

On one we flip colors, cheer faces, boo numbers.
Two hosts a hot meal, but just once a month.
Three wobbles when leaned on, a page folded under its leg.
On four rests a discussion from college, hung on a wall, left unfinished.
On five I’ve marked out the beauty of my friends using equations and colors.
Six sits in the desert of my imagination, a towering mesa.
On seven we make arrangements, set a vase and a picture, place flowers.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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