It’s not like I don’t
ask nice. Not like I
have more than one
shelf. Every night
I make room, but it
is for one single
plate. And every
afternoon it is I
who sets it down.
Who offers you
or you or you
the chance to give
thanks. To be the
one who makes
another fold his
hands. In my home,
it is you who hosts,
and I am compelled
to be charmed. Call it
grace. Call it world
talk. Call it an open
heart, straight teeth
that will always
call you back.
Written 2013