fcor1614 on flickr

The Gift

this really happened at easter

Bright and urgent,
followed by a tiny tap,

the little cup of wine is dropped
and spilled forever always,
right there in the chancel:
on the whitest marble, red.

Splendid, solemn moment:
wine bursts out of grasp
and lavishes
our hastening hearts
with accident,
with sacrifice.

Prophets pour the wine out freely,
on to earth and stone, and say
it’s not in drinking you’ll remember,
no, but in the spilling:
in the pouring out, the giving up,
the flood set loose from upstream of your heart;
the waste, the mess,
the glorious clumsy spirit overtaking all your niceties,
making light of your pretentious, solemn ritual
making light
of all your darkness
making light.
From your darkness,
light.

Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash