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On sellingour dining-table Sarah L. Dixon
On selling our dining-table
The surface was etched with shopping-list writing practice, charcoal rubbing gave up secrets: bred, chcen, joooce.
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The top was marked by PVA, gouged by eagerly wielded 'safety' scissors, sellotape on every corner, as if it was that and not screws
that held the table together.
Stained by poster paints labelled 'washable'. This wood tells of paper painted turquoise, orange, green. Our experiments with primary colours are recorded in its grain.
When we flip the table over there are clearer messages. In purple felt-pen: 1, 4, Backwards 7,8 (3 times) You share my love of that eternal loop. In pink chalk: My lov mum!
A black wax shadow where you tried to draw away your fear of the hooded-monster, an entity you still believe reached out a claw from under your bed when you were three and touched you.
The fading arches of a hopeful four band rainbow. Red and yellow Blue and green.
