bodies

sometimes the body
is empty. sometimes
we empty the body.
sometimes we are
exhausted by words,
and can only groan
or gesture wildly.
 
sometimes our bodies
are broken. sometimes
we fall asleep. sometimes
we have only hunger.
sometimes we don’t.
there is always regret.
 
do we mourn? or
do we wait expectantly?
the crowds disperse
and we are none
the safer, exposed
before one another –
our grief, our anger,
our meager faith.
 
later tonight
there will be flowers. perhaps
there will be songs. please,
let there be songs.

you said

you said this is my body
broken for you; your body
bread to sustain us
 
you said this is my blood
poured out for you like wine
poured out at a feast
 
you said this is my last meal
until the kingdom is
fully formed in us
and we make it our home
 
you said the only power that matters
is the power to serve one another
 
you said that the greatest love
is to lay down your life
for your friends, and then
you made us all friends
 
you said it is finished
but it was a beginning
 
you said we need to die
in order to live
 
and now we are all waiting
your wounds still only wounds
not yet beautiful
 
you are not yet risen, and are abandoned
goodbye, goodbye, God be with you

washing

we sat at the table,
talked about bread
and bodies, blood
and wine. who gives
and who takes?
 
here we are,
broken for each
other. in turn
invited to the table.
 
you knelt before us,
took our feet
in your hands,
gently washed them,
the room silent
but for the water
sloshing and
dripping.
 
did we sing? weep?
the air was filled
with humility
and shame, which
are not the same.
 
whose secret
was revealed?
why this grace?
did we even
finish our meal?
 
i don’t remember.
i only know that
my belly was full,
my heart heavy,
my feet clean.

burials

first, they anoint you.
the smell fills the room.
this gift’s worth
every word ever written
about it. we compare
our sacrifices,
and they don’t compare.
 
there is always someone
who loves you more.
there is always someone
more jealous than you.
this is a kind of betrayal,
this always wanting more.
 
your desire makes you
too easily bought.
that, too, is written down.

fuel

and then there were ten.
we were all waiting.
you took so long—
so very, very long.
we became bored,
distracted. we lost
time, but found our
selves in our bodies,
and lost ourselves
in our bodies’
turning.
              we burned
for you and emptied
ourselves, grew tired
of all our wanting.
and fell asleep.
 
for you’ve taken
so long. i’ve tried
to be ready
in and out of season.
there are rumours
of wars and rumours
of a feast. where
is the door? will
you let me in
now that it is late?