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.