Blessings for All That is Missing

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Blessings for All That is Missing

By Sarah B Sullivan

November 22, 2018

If you are hungry,
I wish for you a table
full of sustenance and grace.
Let us eat together.
Let each bite be a gift.
Let our meal become not only
a memory, but a means
to share what we are given,
our sustenance, our grace.

If your table is missing
a place setting, that hole
in your heart unfillable,
may you be wholly embraced.
Let us eat together,
even if you can hardly swallow.
Let each bite be a gift,
though each bite tastes of grief.
Let our circle at the table always
hold those no longer with us.

If the ground drops
from under you, may you feel
the toe of your neighbor
brush against your foot
as if it were god or salvation.
Let each touch be a gift.
I wish you balance.
May you walk with ease.

When the land you tread
turns barren, I wish for you
a drenching rain
which plasters your shirt—
may you always have a shirt—
to your weary body;
a rain that also fills your cup
and feeds your garden.

May the vibrance of the earth be yours.
May the hymn sung by a passing stranger
fill you when the food is scarce

and when it is bountiful.

 

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Love this poem?  Give back by donating to Sarah Sullivan’s favorite cause, The Center for New Americans.