Communion

For Suzie and her Mom: Communion

The cornmeal snow crunches and squeaks beneath my boots, like coarse sand or grains of rice. Suzie told the stories of crystals and of rice, withering with regret and shame; sweet and pure with love. Words matter. Words heal us and comfort us. I will not attempt the experiments: talking to the grains of rice or whispering to the crystals. Some things I take on faith. I prefer to believe. I need to believe. Transubstantiation is magic. God is in the Host, in the wheat and in the water; the Goddess is in the hands that bake the bread and form the Host. Each and all, we are in the transforming words, we are the blood of the wine. We kneel at the altar of redemption. We are worthy.