Transubstantiation
 

(Posted on my Poems thread as well but posting it here cos it is safe)

Transubstantiation


I don't remember the Creed. I move my lips
recalling the years I spent sulking
through minutes like these.
Thumbs to mind, to lips and heart.
I remember that part, but have never known
whether I should touch my nose too, or why.
I take my cue from the women in hats. A safe bet.


There's a picture of God, touching a Man
with his penis out. I swear to God.
It's a childish distraction and I blink
back into a hymn I've never heard.
It's been years since my last...
I look for familiar faces and see none.
They must have moved on.


We offer each other the sign of peace.
It's my favourite bit since forever-
releasing the restlessness. Coming together
in the unity of... of trying to believe something
in a town of estate agents, offies and hoodies,
feared by the women in hats.


Now the men come with the baskets, shaking coins,
hoping the noise will milk a guilty donation.
I have twenty pence. I look at the Stations
of the Cross and find fifty pence more.


There's a politics to Communion;
a successful anarchy. We don't go
row by row but we know the rules.
The walking sticks go first and then the old
and whoever came with them. Babies
with their mothers, boys with their fathers behind.
And the rest of us.


It's the magic moment now, the main event.
The taste of transformation, the moment so thin
and so brief. The awesome translation
of bread into flesh, wine into blood,
hands into vessels of truth and love.


Instead I cross my arms over my chest.
Like an unconfirmed child, I ask for the blessing instead.
I would love to believe the fantastic,
agree to the moment where everything lifts
into place. I am trying so hard.
After, on my knees, I say the prayers,
breathe the dizzying scents of true faith.
I try to see Light in the candles but it isn't much use.


I don't remember.
I don't feel moved.
I still need proof.