The Spoon's Reflection

When eating, but, saving soup

for someone, take all the celery bits,

leave the carrot smiles.

The sun, warming your neck

at table as much sustenance

as the empty spoon's reflection.

Lunch is never lost on me,

whatever pages I set down to swallow

wait like a guest for refills.

If the day broke here,

like bread contented,

there'd be time for lessons, dancing.

In defiance, I nap,

Scripture open on my belly,

every Word that proceeds…

The best work of our hands,

folded.

Like a napkin.