eucharist 

the church we went growing up
was surrounded by corn fields. 
had a limestone kiln with a mary statue 
built into the belly. i haven't been catholic 
for years but i still dance with the sacraments. 
my favorite has always been communion. 
i live by the notion 
that we should take our gods into 
our mouths. that is why i eat blue corn 
& potatoes. why we grow tobacco 
at the edge of the garden where
it mingles with the orange sunflowers. 
why when we stumble upon a sassafras tree
in the knotted woods, that i break 
a leaf onto my tongue. the word "eucharist"
comes from a greek word meaning 
"thanksgiving." gratitude might be 
the only sacrament. the sun tastes like citrus in the
wet morning. at church there were always
people who did not want to touch
the body of christ with their hands. i always
thought they were strange. they would open
their mouths & let the ministers place
flesh on their tongue just for it to dissolve
like a rock thrown into a pond. 
i am unafraid to hold 
the divine. i pick berries until my hands 
are red. i cup the goats' faces. catch spiders
to let them go by the porch light.
my hands were made for communion.
for holding lovers. taking each other in
piece by piece. our flesh, my gods. 
the soil, a mother. the sun, all teeth.