We

The meeting host reads the ground rules sheet
And states that this isn’t the sort of place where we talk about God
Why then, do we close with the Lord’s Prayer
Your claim feels flawed
The thing is, I kinda like it
Though I’m hesitant to admit 
It’s soothing in some way 
This weird group skit 

I sing the doxology with my friends on the way back from a poetry open mic 
It makes me feel childlike
I cradle that little me
Who sat through church services
Waiting to sing

That was the good part of church   
When everybody rose 
Joined their voices in lyrical prose
Our hymn rising to the rafters
To the sky
A collective hum, a sigh  

Then we turned to each other,
Offered hands to squeeze
No matter your age
A blessing of peace 

Chanting at meditation 
Cross legged in this chair
I’m not a real Buddhist 
No kneeling, no recitation of prayer 

There’s something to this though
Speaking and singing with other people
Short or long, fast or slow 
In the car or under the steeple 

Try it, I dare you
Money back guarantee 
Doesn’t matter what it is 
Song, chant or poetry