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There’s a place not far from here, sort of a diner, but homier—

chairs and tables instead of counters and booths.

The sign over the door reads, Come Early, Come Late.

When you enter, there’s Grace

haloed by the lighting,

shaped like a cookie jar,

smiling like a Madonna in a Russian icon.

 “Sit anywhere,” she says. “Be comfortable.”

The menu’s simple, but the food is nutritious and filling,

not to mention delicious.

No one goes away empty.

Doesn’t matter what brought you here—

Maybe your wife left you or your son died;

maybe you’ve lost your job;

maybe you’re waiting for the test results;

maybe your husband’s an alcoholic,

or you’ve got credit card debts,

or you’re depressed and you don’t know why—

Grace is here:

to give you a hug, or a pat on the back,

or a word of encouragement, or a kick in the ass. 

Often, she just listens.

When you leave, she smiles and says, “Come again! 

Early or late, I’m always here.”

And you go back to battle your depression, or your disease, 

or your debts, or your doubts,

wondering where you got your strength.

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