and we find him in his bed
a rug pulled to his chin
slippers toppled Pisas
eyes crusty and weeping.
We soothe them with drops
ask for hearing aids
and through the high-pitched whistling
weave our questions.
I hold a chocolate chalice
break off pieces place the wafers
on his tongue his mouth closing over
oh, such sweet grace
and he gives thanks to all the angels
and saints the hovering
holograms at his bed
and asks for more
a pilgrim stripped
to sensory purity caught
in sacramental rewind.
The cocoa suns are melting
their slipped light throbs through
piece by piece the chalice transmuting.
Out of the hive of his sticky
mouth striped bees are a tumble
of words alighting on our stamen faces.
Easter Sunday and he has entered the room.
Julie Watts (Western Australia)
First published in Julie’s book Honey & Hemlock, Sunline Press 2013.