Missing the Banquet

By Anita Mathias

Missing the banquet

The same story, always.

No room in palaces, or

middle-class lounges. So

he goes where few

would choose to. Down.

Among those working for small

wages, hemmed

in by circumstance, forced

to be silent, still,

and awake

to see

the glory

Of an angel-streaked sky,

and hear the promise

of Joy:

A Saviour.

And His simple, easily

missed gift:

Peace.

Whatever I may miss

In the hurly-burly of my days

Let it not be you,

Elusive, beloved one

Or the great banquet

To which you summon me,

In which you are the appetizer,

Meat and sweet.

Let me feast with you before

The day rushes in on me,

And through its quiet interstices.

May this tragedy not be mine:

Too busy with the field, the cow,

the barn to revel in the banquet

Squinting at the black and white to do list,

Missing the dazzle of the rainbow.

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