Poetry
Carl A. Winderl
November 1, 1999
Femme Fatalities: 14. r 6
"My son,
the Flesh & Blood King."
Why me
(at Communion)
am I
the only one
who combines
the Host & Wine in One
within my cup:
there
nestled in my palm
the limpid pool shimmers
in rhythm
to my heartbeat while
the Host (as of old)
absorbs the winedark blood
so that saturated, it
sinks beneath
the Cleansing Flood
and I am me no more;
I sup
and He and I
Are—
One again
the way it used to be.
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