"Holy as the Day is Spent" by Carrie Newcomer

Holy is the dish and drain
the soap and sink, and the cup and plate
and the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile
showerheads and good dry towels
and frying eggs sound like psalms
with bits of salt measured in my palm
It’s all a part of a sacrament
as holy as a day is spent

Holy is the busy street
and cars that boom with passion’s beat
and the check out girl, counting change
and the hands that shook my hands today
and hymns of geese fly overhead
and spread their wings like their parents did
Blessed be the dog who runs in her sleep
to chase some wild, elusive thing

Holy is the familiar room
and the quiet moments in the afternoon
and folding sheets like folding hands
to pray as only laundry can
I’m letting go of all my fear
like autumn leaves made of earth and air
For the summer came and the summer went
as holy as a day is spent

Holy is the place I stand
to give whatever small good I can
and the empty page, the open book
redemption everywhere I look
Unknowingly we slow our pace
in the shade of unexpected grace
and with grateful smiles and sad lament
as holy as a day is spent

And morning light sings “Providence”
as holy as a day is spent