Since she lost your arms
she is finding furniture quite supportive.
Asked to dine by the table,
shown to her seat by the chair,
she converses with the salt;
peppers hot topics on the napkin of the one not there.
Another smiling waitress opens a can of laughter,
and unarmed, not even by a notebook,
asks her to leave the Menu
while her dinner cooks.
She knows to leave the flower,
for the woman who dines alone
may read a candle-lit fable to the table,
raising a glass to the rose.
