Communion

The priest’s fingers working open my mouth;

clam seam. Communion—

I haven’t earned it yet. Being

intimate in that way.

It’s raining.

Ithaca in June, neon above the bar,

sadness orbiting

inside cavities I’ve never explored

on my own.

Yearning, a drugged

dog. Watch your hand. Watch

my teeth.

I walk to where the people are.

I walk to see the lights inside

the nave. The lights

inside the beast.

God in the eaves

like sparrows clutching moss

to make a nest of Mary’s

palms. Shrouds of blue, marble

waterfall, sloping prayer.

All of it,

communion. Eucharists,

the men I’ve wanted

and could never ache my tongue around.

Sleepless, I

join the congregation beneath an oak

tree off the exit. A wet

dissolving dawn where

katydids make a litany of their names.

Jared is depicted in the car with a blue collared sweater. He smiles at the camera and wears dark glasses.

Jared Povanda is a writer, poet, and freelance editor from the Finger Lakes region of New York, as well as the co-founder and co-EIC of the literary journal Bulb Culture Collective. He has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, multiple times for both Best of the Net and Best Microfiction, and you can find more of his work in numerous literary journals including Wigleaf, Phoebe Journal, Milk Candy Review, and Passages North. Jared posts on social media @JaredPovanda and @jaredpovanda.bsky.social