by Abby E. Murray

It’s a habit we forget to break
even after we start spending Sundays
away from the church,
following holiness where it goes.
We perform the miracle of rest, too,
in spite of everything we know
about judgment: we bring each other
coffee, fold each other’s clothes,
take walks so we can hold hands.
These are gifts we only seem to give away.
Sometimes, we find what is risen
in the gold hollows of a donut
fried at the bakery down the street
then carried home in a paper sack
and broken on a plate between us.
We sit at the table like priests
and preside over the goodness
of lemon curd and a sugared crust:
how it delights long after delight
is endangered. We give thanks
and feel certain that somewhere beyond us
our gratitude matters: it is heard
like a chant in the halls of a church
we can feel but cannot see.

Abby E. Murray (they/them) is the editor of Collateral, a literary journal concerned with the impact of violent conflict and military service beyond the combat zone. Their first book, Hail and Farewell, won the Perugia Press Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the Washington State Book Award, while their second book, *Recovery Commands*, recently won the Richard-Gabriel Rummonds Poetry Prize and is forthcoming from Ex Ophidia Press.