this is my body broken for you
I stand and take the basket of metaphor and walk
down aisle to back of sanctuary and serve soft squares
to waiting hands floating on waves of meaning
and sentiment some have done this for sixty-five years
reconciling and making eye contact becoming one with
the body individual grains crushed and baked into large
loaf the body of Christ
this is my blood shed for you
silver tray cool in my hands little plastic cups filled with
red juice one for each thumb and forefinger holding on
carefully not spilling despite some shaking doing this in
remembrance the cross shattering our faith with the
reality and violence of the human condition I sit down
after handing back the tray and then lift out my own cup
cupping it in my human hands and wait until we all drink
together the sweet drops of
ritual -------reflection------- rebirth
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