noinummoc

the cracker - hard and brittle as it is - leaves my mouth drier than before
my throat already mildly parched from sitting in the drafty air-conditioned room
fidgeting slightly but incessantly
not from boredom
not from anxiety
postmodern man is simply a restless creature of movement
sitting still requires contentment
and i do not possess her

the cracker is chased with too little grape
too little to fully quench my thirst
just enough to ever so slightly swell my tongue
and make that spot behind my ears sting faintly but assuredly
this upper room ritual is as old as Christendom
in fact it inaugurated it
not the ritual but the act which the ritual then foreshadowed
and now commemorates
i have just partaken of the communion table
and as I stand up and see the crumbs on my lap fall to the floor
i am reminded of the fetters which long ago fell from my soul to eternity's floor
i am connected for a moment ever so brief to saints and sinners, apostles and parishioners
from the upper room until now

my mouth may not be satiated
but this table is not for it
it is for my soul
and my soul has feasted and been refreshed