It is a small miracle we can still hold
gatherings around the kitchen table,
share meals of soup and bread and rice
piled on breakable platters. Here are
perhaps the first of those days we thought
would never come— war at every window,
drought kindling fires through evergreen
forests; men in suits and ties trading
our bodies and freedoms for a world
shrunk to the proportions of their minds.
But here we are, offering prayers to our dead,
sharing what they taught us of ritual and
remembrance—fruit for sweetness, water
and oil for balm; garlic and onions for strength.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
