You said:
When we sat at the table of Sabbath
I used to put on my best dress, my best manners.
It was a ritual of happiness.
I whispered: mother
You still kept the joy of little things
As if it were protected in a time that was yours,
A time that wasn't looted by sadness.

Background: A conversation between me and my mother about her childhood. My mother was the artist of daily life.