[Written by Rose Inglis (she/her)]
[Photo by Regular Man on Unsplash]
Not many things are constant
not many things defined
life shifts and bends against our will
changing all the time
Few things remain
yet some will always stay
found in every household
if not the same in every way
The dinner table
is one such thing
that is with us all our lives
a ritual necessity
though it changes all the time
At birth, you just need comfort
a place to lay and eat
it doesn’t matter where you are
as long as you’re getting a feed
A few months on, the setting changes
a high table all your own
new foods are placed before you
mum praising how you’ve grown
Spoon fed with airplane sounds
by the hands of nervous parents
food mashed and thrown
and juice spilled upon the floor
dinner rules need not be obeyed
until at least the age of four
The next stage is one of privilege
A sign of grace and age
where plastic becomes glass and steel
and you’re told you must behave
Food must be cut not mashed
the sound of airplanes now evening news
now you know what foods you like
and which ones you will refuse
New tables come and go
one for all occasions
cakes and hats for birthdays
at the kid’s club on vacation
Now the basic rules are known
the real table is seldom used
for we know now how to behave
the cutlery is never misused
Then high school starts
and there’s no time for such traditions
The table is a bus seat
dinner eaten before drinking sessions
Then off to uni, where the table is sticky
the shelves are bare and the chair legs bent
somehow all the knives are missing
don’t even ask about the scent
Unlike the table from years ago
this one has no rules
aside from ones in drinking games
ones that make us into fools
Just like in the highchair
cups will fly and fall
except this time it’s not juice that’s wasted
it’s Tennents from the flat down the hall
Now I don’t know what tables are left
what settings are yet to come
is it on to formal adulthood
or can I stick to glens and rum?
Am I meant to buy a table?
a set of fancy chairs?
I don’t have any crystal cups,
and actually, I don’t really care
I’ve come to like mismatched stuff that sits in uni cupboards
the novelty bowls, hand painted mugs, that one nice glass from mother
So whatever dinner tables are yet to come
whatever form they take
I’ll let them happen on their own
after all, it’s just a place to set your plate
