Is my body
This is my
I trace the cross on my belly
Vertical linea nigra
This black line, marking out your expected arrival
Then the horizontal one I barely dare to touch
The “sun roof” as my sister called it
Made for your quick escape
Your great evacuation
Made in haste.
This is my body broken for you.
This is my blood shed.
The messy reality of new life
Blood for weeks
That secret that nobody told me first time round
The woosiness of the initial venture out of bed
Tentative steps like learning to walk again
The return of sensation to limbs numb
The shock of it all.
This is my blood.
And as I flit in between sleep and wake
In the liminal hours
The sound of your guzzling
Lulling me into dreamlike trance
I chance again upon the Eucharist
The broken body
The blood shed
And I’m walking the line
Placing your broken body into outstretched hands
And my brokenness
Becomes all the more poignant
The collision of humanity and the Divine
And as I hold you to me
Our heartbeats echoing
I am caught up in it all
The brokenness and the beauty.
Ruth Wells is an ordained Anglican priest and is currently serving her curacy in West Moors (Dorset) and part-time with the chaplaincy team at Bournemouth University/Arts University Bournemouth. She is a poet and is particularly interested in the theological connection poetry brings to heart and head.
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