Abra, Age 8, Visits St. George’s Cathedral
I stole it a piece of the Prophet Isa
From the bearded priest at Maura’s church. He
Said the Prophet is the wine-soaked bread. I
Stood in line behind Maura, repeated
Her words to the priest: Handmaiden of God.
He spooned Isa into my mouth. My two lips hid him.
When I arrived home he was mush, but I
Dried him out all night. Three round crumbs were left.
If only mother had not dusted. I was going
To keep him near me, to taste him sometimes—when I cry,
Or my mouth is moist with hunger. I even thought that
Imam Hassad would like a piece. At Masjid I could
Drop it in his palm. He is holy. He would know who it is.