Sunday, January 9, 2011


I do not feel invited to the banquet
The communion rail is a fence you stand behind
Dispensing the sacraments, blessings and forgiveness

Your eyes grow wide as I approach
I see your tight smile, your upturned nose
The muscles in your neck flex
When you offer me the bread
Your hands tremble as my lips sip from the chalice

And I begin to doubt

The Feast of the Saints unsettles my stomach
I’m sick, bloated with depression, feeling rejection
After drinking from a cup poisoned with tolerance

Your tolerance is endurance, condescending
It does not persecute
Yet, it does not accept

Your tolerance does not deny, nor does it embrace
It doesn’t stand for something
And it doesn’t take a risk

Your tolerance is cowardice looking for a place to run
A silence of smoldering resentment
Waiting to explode

Your tight smile, your wide eyes, your upturned nose
They betray you

And don’t ever think, not even for a moment
I don’t see your furtive stares or hear your whispers
I feel the squirm in your handshake
And I understand the meaning of your stiff hug

Your tolerance is a glass ceiling
A wall of silence
A circle of fear
A subtle message that says
You’re not really wanted here

Tolerance is neither hot nor cold
Neither soothing nor refreshing

Tolerance is lukewarm

Fit to be spat out

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