When we were kids
we ate dinner
as a family
almost every night.
I would set the table
while my mom cooked
and then we’d sit
down to eat,
take each other’s hands,
and say grace.

When it was my turn
I often said
the old rote words
those “God is good” ones
you know?

Until my parents made
me make words of my own.
And so I learned
that I, too, could
speak to the Divine.

I have loved
the Table ever since,
and relished Table-talk
with God.
There is so much
Grace in the space
of a shared meal,
and so much broken
in this world
that a little
broken bread
can help to heal.