A Poem for Thanksgiving

Here's a fun fact: The word "eucharist" means "thanksgiving." So, in a sense, giving thanks is a sacramental act; it makes one aware of the ways in which grace emerges in everyday, common life. Lately I haven't been very grateful, especially toward friends and family. I've been so consumed with work and the immediate goings on of this community in Minnesota that I've neglected them, and in so doing have not mirrored back to them their love and commitment. I haven't "broken bread", so to speak, with a lot of them in a long time. So, besides my renewed efforts to maintain relationships, this poem is for them.

Eucharist

So, this is what it feels like to have eaten one's fill and to be aching in hunger
For the bread of life? Broken open and shared across miles and months.
A hand stretched from eternity, offering a loaf of dark, Jewish rye, even.

God help me, so that I might just gather up small crumbs of grace
Holding them on my tongue, pungent and present.