Every week I recite these words
with a childish chanting repetition.
They are etched everywhere.
Knees never meant for balance,
seat backs, the worn carpet,
even plastered walls, if pressed,
could produce an imitation.
Newborn cries provide eager punctuation.
We hear and laugh;
the old are made young
as we renew our cry around the table.
Dei Gratia, I hunger, let me eat.