We set aside the sacred meaning and met for communion -- flour spilled over the marble countertop, water poured over ice. We slid onto wooden stools to chew up the seconds while chemistry melded granules together. Time passed and, so, all of it transformed: water to wine, flour to pastry, apprehension to peace. We set aside the sacred (such desolate corridors waiting for life to resurrect itself, for spirits to break free, for the thaw) and softened into communion. Then, when we couldn’t stand it any longer we succumbed: tasting the sweetness savoring the vinegar inhaling the sage. For life is more than food, more than death, deferred, more than these worried, wanton thoughts consuming us.
Today is Day 1 of my Autumn 2024, 30 Days of Poetry. Thanks to my friend and artist Robin Gilmore and owner of Made In Bridgeport for offering the word “communion” to start it off.
Comments are warmly welcomed and no response to a poem is right or wrong!
Thanks for stopping by.
— Elizabeth aka “zed”
Wow! Your awesome!!!
Lovely!