In the Kitchen Chapel

I stood in the middle of a kitchen filled
with rhythms and rites and textures
that soothe like prayer does.
Rising like incense from a thurible pan
full of chilis and smoked paprika,
onions and garlic and grace and a couple of shallots.
A small dice with a sharp knife, a blessing sought,
a scrape toward a surface waiting to break, and then
an amen stir, oh help me know when all,
all, is balanced into blooming whole;
when prayer has been answered and
all is becoming more together than
it was when self-contained and apart.
There is no recipe for that.
That is about calm and time and God,
at work here, in the kitchen chapel,
where you learn by doing and tasting,
offering and sharing;
Where knowing the feel of what is real and listening
to what you already know and to what is before you
while adding a new line or two to the psalm in your bowl
can yield an alleluia that lasts and carries
like the call to gather at table.

Kimberly M. King