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james mcgonigal
Poet  •  Critic

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       First Things

My granny made porridge first thing
with the same untroubled movements
of hand and eye, the same patience
that she gave to her night prayers.

It is a holy and wholesome thought
to eat porridge and pray for the dead
every day of your life, I now think,
reaching down a white bowl from its shelf.

Click on the poem title to read the next excerpted poem from The Camphill Wren.