Like a memory from my Catholic childhood,
The white Eucharist is held aloft
between the Lutheran pastor’s fingertips and thumb.
I remember this, I think, it’s the body and blood of
Christ, offered for you.
It’s no different here,
It seems, even after all these years. My eyes
meet the pastor’s and he repeats his script, word
For word, as Father Jim used to say it in the 80s
At Our lady of Grace, and Father Gold did at
St. Michael’s ten years before, right after my Cathechism.
The Lutheran Pastor holds out the host
And I open my hand, just like then, the palm up,
ready to receive. Back in the pew, my head is bowed,
and I cross myself clandestinely, so as not to offend.
I take the Christ inside me.
I sit for a moment, quietly, and then I start
to ask for things for which I have no right
to ask.
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