How it went
By Patrick T. Reardon
It was Amen. Finger in the
dish. Bread, broken. Cup,
given. Blood, flesh.
The wind was not empty. The angel knew the score.
The kiss, the sword, the healing in torch
Testimony. The right hand and the torn robe.
Deny, deny, deny — the rooster.
Silver planted in the Field of Blood.
Tree grown in the Skull Place.
They feared a riot. She feared a dream.
He couldn’t see the point so he put his hands in the dish.
Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani.
of a sound
I let go?
Patrick T. Reardon
This poem was originally published by Calla Press on 3.10.22