Saying Grace

I buy organic
for whatever it’s worth

my produce I prefer nude
no pesticides

I take note
very little on the store shelf is local

the yellow peppers are from Israel
the blueberries hail from Brooklyn

the strawberries farmed on the West Coast
my food travels far and wide

to find its place on my breakfast plate
I wonder about the hands that harvested

the souls who sorted 
the good fruit from bad

were those peppers from the holy land
perhaps blessed

and the many hands that afford me
the truck drivers who deliver me

I bless them
I bless this absurdity of plenty

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