Eucharist

The old one sits with limp hands, closed eyes.
She is gone, out there singing softly
And making love to God.
She is a girl dancing through an old house.

When she comes back, lifts the dropped face,
Clenches those loose bones, hears the clock tick,
She will speak to us slowly
Remembering his breath upon her breast.

She will serve us strong tea, seated,
But kneel inside, taking his body, his blood,
The gifts of God for the People of God,
The bread of heaven, cup of salvation.

Tim Bascom is a poet and novelist living in Deerfield, Illinois.