The News Was Not Good

       for Andrew upon hearing his cancer diagnosis

I think of you lying unable to speak,
feeding tube firmly taped by fear,
and remember your last service, 
preaching the good news of God
and serving communion,
handling the mysteries of divine grace
with trembling hands
tearing at the feather-breaded
breast of Christ
like pelican mothers
desperate to feed starving little ones
out of their own bloody souls.

The terror of such love,
so helpless at the mercy
of speechless fear
yet desperate still to love
regardless,
wrests good news out of bad
so starched hospital sheets
now serve as God’s makeshift
tablecloth of resurrection hope
as your body becomes bread
broken, a bound sacrifice of praise
uttered out of dark whimpers of pain.

                                          ©2003, Tess Lockhart.  All rights reserved.