She Folds Her Napkin
She touches the corners together
The edges kiss as she takes
the soft cloth and flips it like
a pancake making a small tent
Bonding we mark her feat
with applause newcomers
and sponsors breaking
bread in her second refuge
Not long ago she says in Hebrew
she folded tent after tent night
after night at an Israeli resort
diners indifferently wiping their
mouths with her modest creations
Tonight I emulate her skill
whipping my napkin
from my lap laying it flat
upon the table before folding
Lost in her language I speak
with this weak sleight of hand
rarely mentioning Eritrea
her escape across the border
her daughter she left behind
13 thoughts on "She Folds Her Napkin"
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Beautiful… especially love the power of the last lines.
I poem caused me to sigh and sigh. Beautiful telling.
Oh, those last heart breaking lines on the heels of such a pleasant evening and memory. So well done, Lee.
Beautiful story, so sad at the ending!
I like how the edges of the napkin kiss, but the diners indifferently wipe their mouths. “This weak sleight of hand” is not powerful.
*****EDIT: delete NOT….it IS powerful.
Wow ……yeah. great opening and a lot of info delivered with great ‘ sleight of hand’ power in the ending makes me read it again.
The title drew me to read this poem. I was not disappointed.
Heartbreaking ending, and like Coleman, the ending made me read it again.
Beautifully written!
Beautiful. I love how the focus goes from her to your feeling of connection–emulating her, to the loss that will always be. I love the rich details that allow me to feel this memory.
the action with the napkin shows the story, the emotions
Oh wow! Incredible work.
Loved the details and the humanity and heartbreak.
Appreciate a fellow journalist’s sense for telling the stories of others.
Bless.
Slight revision:
She touches the corners together
The edges kiss as she takes
the soft cloth and flips it like
a pancake making a small tent
Bonding we mark her feat
with applause newcomers
and sponsors breaking
bread in her second refuge
Not long ago she says in Hebrew
she folded tent after tent night
after night at an Israeli resort
diners indifferently wiping their
mouths with her modest creations
Tonight I emulate her skill
whipping my napkin
from my lap laying it flat
upon the table before folding
Lost in her language I speak
with this weak sleight of hand
We rarely mentioning Eritrea
her escape across the border
her daughter she left behind