At some time or other, we have all felt as if we arrived empty-handed, depleted, with no more to give. The crumbs from our tables, even that we hold onto tightly. For us, there is a grace found in the multiplying hands and prayers of Jesus.
I gathered up my bones like Jesus’ disciples.
I picked through the debris to find what was good and meaty.
Still left clinging to the bone
And i dropped in my basket
Where there was a crumb
I picked it with thumb and forefinger
I closed my hungry palms around it
And waited for Jesus to multiply it.
I gathered up these bones like memory
Threw them brittle out to sea
When the waves of cold Galilean water
sprayed them back on to the shore
On the shore
Gritty with sand.
Salty to taste
Like so many shed tears
And yet they filled my stomach
Where no mere meat could
Ant the multitudes had gone
Each to his own house
While I waited with my empty basket.