GRACE
For my mother

A memorization recited quickly
as the bread is passed,
the roast carved, the peas doled out
with a slotted spoon. Grace bestows faith
so we are taught. The heretic, the agnostic
may sit in the chair of plenty but they
own nothing, it is all transient.
They must keep grabbing
in the fitful way of those who despair
of ever having all they need.
Grace: a seed that thrives in the richness
of good loam, that withers on stone.
The dice game of belief.
The name given her was a magnet
for the iron filings of certainty.
The boat in which she sailed confident
of destination.
 
-Iodine Poetry Journal