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The Temple police are everywhere,
the Emperor’s soldiers watching.
Crucifixions happen daily, people taken,
cruelty substituting for order.
Arguments are launched
about who belongs, who is outside
the law. Everybody knows who’s targeted.
Suspicion, fear and anger float above ground
like smog everyone breathes.
But in the candle lit room
people gather at a table
from different tribes and parties,
rich and poor, and all are welcomed, all are fed.
Clear eyes. Warm smiles. Open hands.
It is a direct affront to the Emperor,
who can’t imagine this, but
the table transgresses his realm,
extends through the city,
across the nation, around the world, forever.
Children on far off islands hold hands
with elders on the tundra,
one meal, one prayer, one body.
The Emperor and his terror will die
one of these nights, his palace become ruins;
but the table will remain and welcome,
and the clear eyes and warm smiles will continue,
the bread be passed from hand to hand,
one prayer, one body,
till the end of time.
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