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The Offering by Rebecca Palermo
The ornate centerpiece of your reclaimed walnut dining table was
A whole, roasted salmon, blushing like the sunset and festooned
With crimson radishes like jewels, winking at your reverential guests.
Like the tapestry behind glass on the far wall, woven of intricate wool fibers,
It boasted hues delicately chosen, much deliberation over arrangement,
Gorgeously displayed and laid upon its earthenware bed like art within a frame.
Like the blown glass mug, speckled with vibrant enamels and perched
On the oaken hutch shelf, the substance of it was chosen for its delicate nature.
It was coaxed by heat and time to reach a molten yet fragile consistency.
What can you do when you’re neither a master weaver of textiles, bound by your loom,
Nor a maker of artisanal blown glass with a studio overlooking the rich blue sea,
But display this fish, the whole body of it more than enough to share with friend and kin?
You can coax us to please take a first bite, as you recite our shared histories,
Reminders of your care and our closeness, welcoming those of us without tables
Of our own, as we hungrily receive your offerings more like blessings than works of art.