I BRING NOTHING TO THE TABLE by Elizabeth Hipwell

Belly rolling over through the sinews of my spotty,

Dirty cotton t-shirt.

"I bring nothing to the table," 

It says in bold and broken red letters.

Looking lost,

Caught up in the confines of days of yore

Which dictate who and what I should be. 

I tip my dirty white yarmulke in reverence to the
Customs and spiritual observations of my cultural 
Tradition,

Which gives me a chance to have a semblance of dignity 
In a world which only sees what it sees...

In my overgrown gray hair and beard,

Soiled baggy pants,

Worn out shoes, 

Sans socks, 

And a torn plastic shopping bag.

"I bring nothing to the table."

I am a page off of the reality of life which inspires
This poem,

An understanding of those without empathy,

Intrigue and tradition...

Having an impact on another who sits across from me 
And has worn this t-shirt in her heart...

Searing her soul with the words

"I bring nothing to the table."

Seeing me,

Enabling those BBQ words to come unhinged.

Floating to the surface of consciousness.

Seeing me has inspired another to become overwhelmed 
With respect,

Recognition and compassion.

"I bring nothing to the table."  

I bring everything to the table...

It's just a t-shirt after all,

And can be discarded...

-Image & Words by Elizabeth Hipwell