THIS IS THE BODY.

A NUN AND HER CHRIST.

This is the body
Of Christ, said Sister
James; I hold it now
Between fingers like

A sacred gem. My
Mother doubted the
Essence, said it was
Just bread, that any

More was just notions
In my childish head.
I feel the crispness,
See the whiteness, sense

The hidden Christ with
In the host. Father
Would hold his before
His eyes, then kiss it

Softly before he
Placed it in his mouth
And closing his eyes.
Mother said it was

All a magic trick
And a cartful of
Lies. I place the Christ
Upon my tongue, let

His presence be felt,
Sensing through the nerves
Of my being, His
Sacrifice, His pain

And hurt, His cruel
Crucifixion and
High resurrection
(Mother said it was

All fancy fiction)
Coming together
On my fleshy tongue,
Dissolving there, then

Gone, entering me,
Fulfilling, being
There, lifting me up,
To be, to love, to

Share. Mother would say,
Doubt it if you dare,
It’s just a sham, just
A con. When she was

Dying, ridden with
Cancer, I saw Christ
By her bedside sit,
Looking sadly on.