The Public Table

It was rumored to have been made from the treeOf the first spinning place. Some said the sideOf a Spanish slaver spit from the sea.Others church bench, chunk of stage, courthouse wall.A widow swore her grandfather had helpedDrag it from his swamped fields after a storm.One leg longer than the others, it leanedLeft. It belonged to no one and was ours.Years pressed down on it with tobacco ash, peachPits, coffee rings, the impress of elbows,A knife-mark widened by a thousand thumbs.You can’t run yo...