Grace

A simple family prayer becomes ritualistically divine.

When we all hold hands
Before each meal
Someone gives a prayer
We all may share

The squashed warmth of Dave’s hand
The intense pressure of yours
The way Slick’s bones move
Maybe I squeeze too hard

The words go through us
Insulated by our grasps
Sending not God to table
But us to dine from Him

The energy we create
Still and then consuming
This ritual that moves us,
Does it race through you,
Transmitting like a vibrant, kicking heart?