The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Bridget Gage-Dixon


This is my body which will be given up for you.

I went to the altar in eyelet and organza,
stood with my mouth slack and stared
at the coarse white hairs that rose from the priest's
weathered hands as he lay bland flesh on my tongue.

This is the cup of my blood.
The blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

I couldn't hold the chalice or taste the wine,
only the flow of spittle as it slipped over the sides of my tongue
dissolving that unleavened disc.

It will be shed for you and for all
So that sins may be forgiven.

But when I walked back down the aisle
to where my father stood
in his resurrected Easter suit,
he lifted my veil, kissed my cheek,

Do this in memory of me

and I drew in his breath, savoring the traces
of cigarettes and Tellamore Dew.

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