on martha

i love this little poem by madeleine l'engle in her book the weather of the heart.

martha

now
nobody can ever laugh at me again
i was the one who baked the bread
i pressed the grapes for the wine.

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this poem is solace for anyone who as felt as though they are not meditative enough.

me, for one.

prayer is--at least some of the time--the work of our hands.

anon, and +peace