The Definite Article
Sept 24 2004


I cannot remember if “table” is masculine or feminine
in French;
because in my ascetic language
that came-of-age on a wind-swept island in the freezing north Atlantic,
objects do not have sex.

But on its sturdy legs
with a slab of oak four-square at each end
coarse-grained and roughly planed,
it must be male.

Except when I look into your face from across it,
after dessert
something smooth and sweet and chocolate,
in waning candlelight
and the warm glow of too much wine.
When all I can see is the flame in your eyes
and I’m overcome by desire
and I want to sweep it bare and take you there,
abandoned to animal appetite.
I think that then
the table would be feminine.

And we would both sink back in its soft burnished wood
in the warmth of melted candle-wax
in a sea of spilled red wine.