For Christie

We break this bread; and then the crack

like bones that snap or gunfire’s lead.

It fractures air, a fissured tear in this expectant space.

*

Eyes behold how the light

bursts through broken sacrifice. The host is making

wings to wear, our freedom here bought by extravagant grace.

*

Now befriended at this table

I am able to be mended,

for by Love’s death, we find life’s breath; this is a healing place.

*

The ragged edge is handed round,

the only sound a soft Amen.

This bread we share, what feast compares with love that we can taste?

Susannah Underwood