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Sermon in the Kitchen

Eat your bread joyfully, drink your wine with good heart,
for your work pleases God.
––J. G. Hamann

The morning held up its mirror and said, Wake up. Your sink and spoons
are dancing with light.
Your veil is waiting.
Your day is waiting to be untied.
And the morning said, C’mon sleepy head, we had a deal.
Close Facebook. Close Snapchat. Remember how it felt to be useful.
And the morning said, Stop chasing status. Stop chasing status.
Do as you’ve been meaning to do.
Clean that ketchup from the floor. I’ll watch.

And the morning said, While you’re down there, why not think of
I was remembering trees outside my parents’ house. They were birches
bound up in a thicket,
        like things you’ve done for longer than you remember.
And the morning said, Things, branches, die of forgetfulness.
Your friend is taking a course in meditation.
Your colleague has given up the devil juice.
Pity the leaves blowing in the wind. They struggle to rewrite our book,
verse by verse.

And the afternoon said, What is God?
And the evening said, Sleep clean, like dishes on the rack.

Wessie du Toit

(issue 29)