Prayer unfolds over a black table, kitchen tabletop.
Furrowed in prayer, we trace soul-thin places plowed long,
harrowed wide. We cradle the sadnesses with prayer.
In soft chorus, the palms of my children reach,
reach over the table's expanse, and touch warmth
to hands and forearms, fingers and elbows.
Eyes squinched shut, we pray,
the safety net of comfort catching us.
Please help Daddy to find a job, Lucy prays. We know
it all depends on you,
Jesus,
the wide table of heaven there between us.
