Whiny children with grubby hands
lining up to grab at the hem of Your clothes
in the bread and the wine.
Only an indulgent parent would begrudge the presumption
with which we take the bite-size pieces
or the desultory thank yous
to Christ’s body and blood shed for you—
maybe because You know it’s good for us
or because we’re doing what we were told.
Dabbing politely at the corners of the mouth,
shuffling, hobbling, striding back to their seats
the beautiful and homely
strong and weak
old and young
rich and poor—
for one moment washed-up souls
huddled upon the same shoreline
hoping for some distant homecoming.