The Space Poem by Monica Melissano

There is an empty seat
at my humble table
and it's fully reserved.
No one else is allowed to sit there,
No one else will ever be.

And I'll be waiting
until the meat is cold,
until the rose
has no leaves left,
until the red wine
turns into vinegar,
until the candle is burnt.

Then
I'll cook again
I'll refresh the table
I'll polish the silver plate
with my guest's name on it
until it shines
like moonlight.

And I'll just keep on waiting
again.