I am a child
In my Grandmother’s
Kitchen
With the evening
Closing in
And we are alone
The two of us
By the open fire
And she handing me
Rice on a red plastic
Plate and I savouring
Its loveliness
The lapping of flames
In turf and the clock ticking
We are not in need
Of words
And do not speak them
I am a child
In my Grandmother’s
Kitchen
Kneeling at her feet
Hands joined and resting
On her lap
Finding God in
The kitchen and the home
Of our lives
And being loved
This is my prayer
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