She remembered.
She remembered waiting on them.
Passover.
Watching over the waiting women.
So, the men could focus.
So, her son would not be distracted
The setting. Utensils. Food.
Sauces. Herbs.
All beautifully laid out.
Set in order. Centuries old tradition.
She remembered him serving;
solemn weight of bread,
lingering force of words,
hum of imminent crisis.
This meal before her now
received from John’s hands.
This meal. Her son. Her flesh.
She remembered the shared agony. Watching
him bleed dry. When his wounds could
not feel her touch.
His blood drying on her fingers.
And, now this. Another son
places in her same fingers
the body, the bread.
Making herself breathe, she receives
while recalling her own youthful voice,
Yes.
