The phrases from Morning Prayer today prompted a couple of short poems that I thought I might share with you all.
The bread that you give is your own body
Day by day, skin and muscle, time and salt
To the arms and wiles of strangers
With neither hesitation nor irony
Under the liminal gaze of the street
And its hustlers and beggars and shoppers
Flesh for flesh
Edible after a long and merciless day’s traffic
God will provide the lamb.
It’s my wager with every fibre of my body
stretched to breaking point on the path
up the hill. Every stone
is larger than the blue mountain ahead
Every dead body to date is my son’s
And his is stretched out as a question
towards the distant horizon
joining knife to altar to wood to fire
in a pattern than doesn’t quite settle
and yet is visible in the twilight
of our journey.
This I hold in my heart for my son:
Things are not as they appear.
We will both go back down this mountain
Before the day is done