The Dining Room

There is an armoire, faintly shining,
that once heard the voice of my great-aunts,
heard the voice of my grandfather,
heard the voice of my father.
The armoire is faithful to these memories.
It would be wrong to imagine her always silent,
since I talk with her.

There is also a wooden cuckoo.
I do not know why he has no voice now,
and do not want to ask him.
Perhaps it simply broke?the voice
once in his spring?
like that of the dead.

There is, as well, an ancient buffet
that smells of beeswax and preserves
and meat and bread and ripe pears.
He's a faithful servant who knows
he must not take anything.

I have been visited by many men and women
who did not believe in these little souls.
I smile to think they envision me alone
whenever someone enters saying:
How are you, Monsieur Jammes?

Poem by Francis Jammes