We are outside, in the middle of this world,
a glass and plate on blue cloth.
The beauty of fruits hang from trees above,
and berries fill the bushes.
Here are golden roots and slices of green,
this earth enough to feed us all,
enough to put aside for another season
from our labor in the fields.
We knew it from the days before
and I have used these words
to help set this table for the world,
apple, bread, cheese, grapes,
maybe a little wine.
It is meant to be this way.
So don’t ask the question,
Who fills the cup for you,
and how many days do they fill it
in times of need
at this altar of a table on the earth?
And who leaves it almost empty
breaking bread first, before the rest of us
take our place before our own work?