Sun, 30 November

liturgy for the clearing Let us gather what remains. Let us stack the evidence of hunger satisfied. For the crumb that fell between the boards: we release you. For the glass still circled with the ghost of someone's mouth: we receive you. For the water that accepts all things — grease, wine, the residue of bread — we pour ourselves through you. This is the station of the sponge. This is the station of the drying cloth. This is the station of the hand that finds the light switch last. Blessed is the soap that labors without memory. Blessed is the drain that holds nothing back. Blessed is the table, which does not know it is empty. We who cleared, we who carried, we who stood hip-to-hip before the sink and spoke of nothing while our hands performed the ancient work — we are the priests of the ordinary conclusion. We are the ones who put the chairs back. Let the wet plate catch the last light. Let the kitchen cool. Go now. The dishcloth is wrung. The counter holds its breath until morning.