The empty tables at the
Six Hot Pot
Invite me lovingly,
Warm broth simmering
in Silence, gentle chatter
Of families sharing a
Meal, meat being cooked
In hot pot, slurping of
Noodles, crab cakes.
I look longingly at the
Table for six, a picture:
A mother straightens
A little girl’s hair, brother
Blows drink out of
A straw.
I feel my cheek turning
numb
Again, wind reminding
Me of a snow forecast
For later today.
How many years
Till I form my own tribe
If only to share a bowl
Of one Hot Pot ?