The Feast of Reconcilliation
This time we'll bring our ideas and beliefs
to a banquet table laden with white linen.
Your story arrives on pewter platter
And we'll listen to its growth pains, its fattening,
The way the sun strengthened it
And darkness pierced it.
We'll hear the harvest story without interrupting.
This time we won't gobble senselessly, mindlessly.
This time we'll peer into the delectable juices of
succulent possibilities and feel nourishment in every cell,
Every organ, supple connective tissue.
And finally we'll pat our full bellies, sated with unique individuality
Of this precious story, this fattened pig or golden sheath.
This time, as the servant offers another plattered story,
We won't flinch, complaining of fat or empty calories,
Extolling the virtues of past diets or beliefs.
We'll eat again the sweetness, the bitterness, saltiness, sourness.
We'll chew the words deeply, listening for the unspoken and unplanted
As well as the creamy sauces.
We'll nod, "I remember, this too is true!"
We'll not compare past dishes.
The feast embraces many platters for many hungers.
We'll nourish the hunger of our table-mates.
And when shame or guilt bellies through us
From some belch or fart or elbows on the linen,
We won't chastise ourselves or our neighbors.
Our feasting hearts will crack open wide enough to allow
For all crumbs, all spilled drinks, all the drunken festivities
Of those who never imagined such grace.
We'll create art from leftovers.
We'll eat forgiveness for dessert.
We'll toast our tactlessness as we celebrate our tenderness,
We're either sated together, or not at all.
Oh at this feast how we'll reconcile!
How the sap flows as former enemies embrace in bear hugs across
The table and tears puddle in goblets of pure water.
"I was just trying to say-" one begins
And another ends, "But I was just trying to say-"
And a third captures the snapshot in digital symmetry,
A whole greater than its parts,
Ever reconciling the hologram of parts,
A whole refusing to exist without its precious parts.
The feast is not a feast
Until we're all gathered ‘round,
Every spice memorialized in song,
Until the vitamins in each story nourishes unborn generations.
Eye beholds it, Nose breathes it in,
Tongue caresses it,
Teeth gnash it to bits,
Throat invites it deeper,
Stomach transforms,
Excretion composts it to grow new seeds,
New ideas and beliefs,
Dreaming of tomorrow's feast of reconciliation,
Tomorrow's feast of love.

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