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Kitchen Trinity

ISSUE:  Spring 1995
Three women
at a table
hold the world.

One gets up
to stir the stars,
one makes the fire,
another blows on it
to keep it going;
and still they have time for play,

three women
hunched over a cup,
hands open in invitation
as the table tilts
in Rublev’s icon,

three angels
with the same face.

My mother is the tree trunk I climb,
my grandmother’s hands
kneading bread
make the table shake.

Tell me the story
of the three hungry angels
who appeared one day at Abraham’s tent,
to make Sarah work
and laugh.


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