Supper

 for Emma                                                       

This evening,
trees outside yellowing to winter,
inside, the ceiling lamp
lit against too-early dark,
round table
with papers pushed aside
to make room for a meal,
this evening descends
from one spent in your kitchen
where, at your round table,
pendant shade decanting light,
I learned a sturdy truth:
thick soup, contentment brimming
in the spoon,
salted, buttered baked potato
breathed and taken in,
are themselves the blessing,
themselves the perfect meal.

 Marjorie Mir