Sunday, October 7, 2012

Sunday Poem: Rise



I love the yeasty smell
of bread baking,
the way water and heat
and flour mix to fill
my kitchen with the smell of this 
body rising from the bowl like
His body rising
from the grave, 
I slide a loaf out of the oven
and inhale the joy
of Mary Magdalene clinging
to the Master's side.
I break as he was broken.
I eat as I believe
He wanted us to do,
to smell the yeast of magic,
the soul that bid He rise,
to welcome Him in
the pit of me, His body,
this bread, becoming
the core of who
I Am.

HT

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