Whiny children with grubby hands

lining up to grab at the hem of Your clothes

in the bread and the wine.

Pretty please.

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.

 

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