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A Domestic Prayer
O Hestia, the first and last,

and queen of kitchen fire,

please bless the forks and every glass,

and help me to inspire

a dinner table set for all

with food that's made with love.

Please bless the pots, both large and small,

and knives, each oven glove.

I haven't time to dedicate

to offerings and prayer,

for as usual dinner's late,

and I've not swept the stair.

Still first and last are yours, of course,

and I pray as I clean:

please purify and reinforce

this home, O Kitchen's Queen.

I work to earn my bread, so I've

no time to bake it right;

so much to do, I can't take five,

nor sleep all through the night.

And someone has to sweep the floor

and get the laundry through,

which I guess is me once more—

the while, I think of you.

I wash each dish to meditate,

dust, sweep, and mop to cleanse

this home—I'm sure you can relate—

for family and friends.

The household tasks are your domain,

each chore a simple prayer.

Your rites need nothing that's arcane:

just do the work of care.

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