Taste of Grace

I break Bread of Life

Offering a small morsel of grace–

To empty hands

Hands calloused

From work and weather,

Hands soft and small

From new life,

Hands firm and fixed,

Hands quivering and quaking.

All of them empty

All of them seeking

Something.

Something beyond.

A bite of blessing

A blessing that doesn’t

Promise freedom from doubt or despair;

Or a platitude of

you’re never given more than you can handle

No.

This small cube

This taste of grace

Whets the appetite

While honoring

The really real

Of today.

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