Twice Christ took the bread apart
with his human hands that he used for
such tasks, once with fish and once with wine,
the grain a pattern of tribute, distribute,
as he worked the division of himself into
feeding others with his body, taken but not taken,
there but not there, it was two times
two times two. Ever body got some body
who will feed them even when there seem hardly
enough to go round. When I hungered the word
fed me. Even so, so many others hungered
he needed a hundred more human hands.
That was when I said here take mine.
Copyright © 2023 by D. A. Powell. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 9, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.