Poems for Jesus: #4, A Day of Sacraments

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I get up in the morning, pull back the bedclothes
And I think of how you rose from slumbering death,
To leave the linens folded in the tomb.

I step into the shower, turn the water scalding
And I think of how you wash my feet,
And every part

I get on the bus and pay the fare, five quarters in a slot
And I think of how you've bought me with your own blood
Calvary's currency

I eat my lunch, some lentil soup, a bit of bread
And I think of how you laid your body down
The bread broken, the wine poured out

We stop our work to pause and pray
I think of what I've heard you say
Where two or more are gathered

I pedal up Columbia Hill, breaking in a sweat
And I think how you went up on a donkey's back,
with cheers
And later with a crossbeam on your own,
with jeers

I look out at the stars studding your great black sky
And I think you were there when each one found its place
Its wheel on which to spin

I lay down again in my own narrow bed,
For sleep's refreshment
And I think of how, oh someday soon in the span of time, Jesus,
I will wake up for the first time, when you wake me.