Though there are great oceans
to revere and spiraling galaxies
to venerate, there is also the humble
beet, served here sliced thin on a long white plate,
tousled with dark green arugula
and drizzled with sweet, thick balsamic.
This carpaccio could make a woman find
religion, especially when served
with a wedge of flatbread and pesto
with mascarpone. Dear God, I know
nothing about the ordering of the stars,
cannot fathom the intricate
paths in the brain, the palm, the spine,
but the beet with its rings, its red,
its stain, I can find you here, not
a god restricted to heaven, but one who understands
earth and dirt and bitterness turned sweet.