Communion

Who spoke the words

now repeated by the priest,

words at the breaking of bread,

ascribed to the Lord of the feast?

Good friends and wine and food,

yet still his heart was sore.

And she who had swept the floor

and, after the making of bread,

had set the board,

did she listen behind the door

to the words many say he said?

Did sorrow pierce her to the bone

for all that lay ahead

causing those tears to flood?

The words are a woman’s own

who for her child has borne and bled.

“Mine is the body and the blood

given for you,

first emerging with such strife

down my corridor of life,

mystic daughter, sacred son;

love makes each a holy one.”