I’ve been doubting peace
On such a broken earth.
And questioning goodwill toward men
So wounded with sin.
But perhaps it was peace
Which permeated the prayer before our meal:
Sinuous yet strong
Enough to hold our hands
Together as we stood
In a haphazard circle around the kitchen.
And maybe it was goodwill
As we relinquished comfort and elbow room
Along the long rectangle of table
That we might send smiles back and forth
Between bites of turkey
And sweet potatoes drenched in sugary butter.
Moments to hold in my hands:
Here is Peace on our little spot of Earth,
A gentle reminder of hope.
Goodwill within these walls–
For glimpses of a joy to come.