I have grown up 
around my family’s kitchen table.
It still stands in all its glory,
scratches and stains included,
each one telling another story.

Every night I learned
more about my family,
more about myself,
sitting around that table.
The day would stop for us
as we sat down into our
own little world,
revolving around 
our little table.

I don’t sit at that table 
as much anymore.
Life moves too fast,
there are too many places to be,
and the world doesn’t stop for us anymore.

The table still stands,
but no one sits.
I think about that table where
I grew up,
and wonder when 
it changed to past tense.