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

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