After the Eucharist, the clean
up, every plastic cup consigned
to the trash, pottery chalice
and plate rinsed in the sink.
I take the bread to the butterfly
garden. I tear scraps
of unleavened rounds into crumbs
which I scatter across the ground.
The children delight in pouring
the undrunk but consecrated
wine into the flowers, where it drips
down to the soil below.
I imagine caterpillars drunk
on God’s love made visible
in sacrament, birds pecking
in the dirt, surprised
to find a blessing,
bushes bursting with blooms
in improbable colors.
Inspired by Dave Bonta’s “Inner city” and Luisa A. Igloria’s “What can you do with day old bread?“
Your post gave me a boost. I felt restless, now I see the Imprbable Blessing in more things.