Friday, February 10, 2012

Red Mass

In a red church in a sea
of black and white, she
stands before an altar,
its white cloth stained
by centuries of spilled
wine, red, but it’s
the only cloth they have.
She kneels to receive
the host, wafered white,
and tastes the red hand
of God, fingers sifting
the burning sand around
a burning bush. She
watches the priest’s hand
shake as he lifts the chalice,
once again spilling the wine,
red, on the white cloth,
stained. Only then does she
see his bleeding hands,
tastes blood.

Over at T.S. Poetry Press, the theme for February is red. To see links to more poems (red ones), visit the T.S. Poetry page on Facebook.

Photograph: Red Church in Teplice, by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


Karen Kyle Ericson said...

I love this imagery. The colors are so vivid, the message is strong. Powerful! Thanks for sharing this.

Jerry said...

It's as if the finger of God might be pricked if it touched the illumined spire of that church in the image as well.

S. Etole said...

Powerful imagery in this.

Anonymous said...

spilled wine.
i see it all the time.
no longer shall i
the red stain
that spreads
upon the cloth of white.
neither shall i despair
of washing it clean.

Megan Willome said...

You get it, Glynn.