Home >> Volume 7, Issue 01

Abra, Age 8, Visits St. George’s Cathedral

Timothy Bartel

I stole it       a piece of the Prophet Isa
From the bearded priest       at Maura’s church. He
Said the Prophet is       the wine-soaked bread. I
Stood in line behind       Maura, repeated
Her words to the priest:       Handmaiden of God.
He spooned Isa into my mouth.       My two lips hid him.
When I arrived home       he was mush, but I
Dried him out all night.       Three round crumbs were left.

If only mother       had not dusted. I was going
To keep him near me,       to taste him sometimes—when I cry,
Or my mouth is moist with hunger.       I even thought that
Imam Hassad would like a piece.       At Masjid I could
Drop it in his palm.       He is holy. He       would know who it is.