I was white bread, sticking to the roof of his mouth:

He was all bones and warm brown skin

We leaned into each other,

bone on bone, skin on skin

He swallowed communion bread,

In the same aisle where my mother had cried on my Christmas dress,

When the pastor said that "the light of the good too soon grows dim"

He held my hand like I'd held hers,

Atop our bible, our fingers interlocked

Our skin, Our pages

Our history, rewritten

        II

"Take and eat"

     

They told me but my hands trembled

 

To let go

 

I choked, I broke, I was soaked-

 

in iridescent light

 

The bells rang brightly-

 

I couldn't breathe-

 

My soul congesting, my pain manifesting, my heart undressing, such riotous aching, such momentous breaking, forsaking myself-

 

There had been a candle for nearly every loss that year,

 

There must have been twenty in the sanctuary alone,

 

They were all packed away by January 1st

 

Love can't be swallowed,

Greif can't be stored,

Love sticks to your tongue,

While Grief grips your bones

For hundreds of days,

thousands of communions,

And infinite January's

Hold on to Love

And give Grief a place to go