Not the rapture of seeing
Jesus walk on the sea,
nor the marvel of feeding
five thousand, only plain
outstretched hands ridged
from labor in the mill
or garden: open palms
that mirror the heart
grateful to receive this
wheaten sphere, the miracle
of Christ’s flesh made real.
Like this post? Subscribe to have new posts sent to you by email the same day they are posted.
Wonderful poem! Really makes me feel the beauty of the Eucharist!