Hannah Smith: The Table, or Where I Sat

Every year it’s the same

Same food, same drinks, same people

The same tired placemats and utensils

The same seating arrangement 

I walk up to the table

Looking across the candlelit expanse I see

Seats for fathers and married women

Seats for accomplished children and veteran grandparents

It feels like I am always stuck in this moment

Walking up to the table

Looking for my seat

Looking and finding that I have none

“Next year you can sit with us!” they say

“Just sit at the kids’ table one more year”

But it’s always just one more year

But it’s always empty promises

I’m left without hope

I’m left with so many questions

When is it my turn to get a seat at the table?

When do I get a chance to be heard?