The child asked,
"Why is the bread so dry?"
I told her the ancient story
of a people who had
to rush out of the
land of slavery.
They couldn't wait to
for the baked bread
to rise.
So they prepared
their bread
without yeast.
So when we
eat the bread
we remember
the people
God rescued.
Then I told her
another story.
A tale of a lifetime ago.
When there was
no SPF-50
no carcinomas
where the beach was
a place
where some got
the glow of a tan
and some suffered
the pain of sunburn.
And some of us
who endured the hurt
would strip the skin
and taste it.
Seasoned with
sand
and salted with
the ocean
and sweat.
And when we
got home,
we bathe
and lie in our
beds as still
as we could manage.
Every now and then
we would
spot a piece
of dead washed
flesh.
We placed it
our mouths
and recall
the taste of
the wafer
on Sunday morning.
And the words
the priest said,
"This is My flesh.
Do this in remembrance of Me."
