Communion (Post-Mortem)
by M. Allshouse
O Lord
I believed once
But as I sit here
I profess
That the corpse before me
Is not the divine—
Its substitute at best.
You give me—
Scraps
Command I partake
But your gaze is cold
And with lips stitched closed
Your silence conflates
What I’ve been given
To what I receive.
Gratefully
Filled with formaldehyde lies,
Glutaraldehyde heresy—
Methanol ego,
Your truly most precious body…
Life-giving blood.
I did not organize this supper,
This brunch for two.
Forced to sit here,
Forced to commune with—
You.
But yet,
Being dragged to the table,
I still am expected to beg—
Pray,
That maybe
with breath ragged from begging,
you'll scrape me into heaven
despite the stains
you handed me.
Amen
Eucharist shoved down my throat.
Wash it down with tea.
Communion with a corpse—
It’s not what I imagined it to be.
Communion (Post-Mortem)
by M. Allshouse
O Lord
I believed once
But as I sit here
I profess
That the corpse before me
Is not the divine—
Its substitute at best.
You give me—
Scraps
Command I partake
But your gaze is cold
And with lips stitched closed
Your silence conflates
What I’ve been given
To what I receive.
Gratefully
Filled with formaldehyde lies,
Glutaraldehyde heresy—
Methanol ego,
Your truly most precious body…
Life-giving blood.
I did not organize this supper,
This brunch for two.
Forced to sit here,
Forced to commune with—
You.
But yet,
Being dragged to the table,
I still am expected to beg—
Pray,
That maybe
with breath ragged from begging,
you'll scrape me into heaven
despite the stains
you handed me.
Amen
Eucharist shoved down my throat.
Wash it down with tea.
Communion with a corpse—
It’s not what I imagined it to be.