November 20, 2003

Communion -- May 18, 2001

As I smear your blood, warm, pungent, dripping crimson
Over the doorposts and lintel of my life,
I remember
How you lay panting against your mother,
New wool still matted with birth’s waters,
Last spring’s steaming herald.
How you jumped and frolicked with my children
In the summer sun,
“Baaaa-ing” along with their laughter.
How your thick, full coat,
“Without blemish and without spot”
Shone against autumn’s failing colors.
How you gently nuzzled me tonight
As I led you out of your pen;
Quietly following, your wet eyes full of knowing.
How your last breath hung in a tiny cloud
In that cold twilight moment before blade and blood fell.
And now, as I paint the last dregs of your life onto this doorframe
And watch it soak deep into the wood, becoming one with this house of my heart,
I remember you.
And even though I know that death’s angel will pass over me
And that my firstborn will live to see tomorrow’s sunrise,
I weep.

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