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Poem: “How it went”

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.


Was that

the still

small itch

of a sound

that Elijah

heard as

I let go?


Patrick T. Reardon



This poem was originally published by Calla Press on 3.10.22

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