four scenes of the sacrament

four scenes of the sacrament

I.

Thresh as you will,

you will not separate

the miller’s sweat 

from out of the barley grains,

dripped from bloody 

calloused hands then mixed

and baked in wafer 

crisps now shingled on

the silver plate

in whole-wheat snakeskin scales.  

II.

Cover your ears, 

but in the primal hollow

of your brain

take in the liquid sound

of life-blood, dark 

and crawling its gurgling way

towards the light,

spilling itself in puddles

on the dirt 

beside the heifer’s opened

throat—taste it 

in the back of yours,

sipping from 

the little plastic cup.

III.

Settle yourself

back down in the wooden pew,

but listen to 

the chop, the chop, the crack

of the metal head 

that drives itself down deep

into the oak,

the fibers popping like

the breaking of

a lover’s straining heartstrings.

IV.

Receive the cup 

from wrinkled hands and meet

the tired eyes 

that tell you of rebirth—

hear well the words

of whispered benediction,
and take and drink 

this in remembrance of 

the fact that wine

is heel-crushed grapes.