First Communion

I remember
kneeling in my
borrowed dress
and veil, the bone
and blood of Christ
against the pink flesh
of my tongue

and the image of
my father’s
liquored face
how he stayed
in bed that day

Sacraments can’t
make a family
function: when I
was six, Jesus
was just another
disappointment
dying on a cross.

Copyright © 2001 Dorothy Doyle Mienko • Selection from The 2River View, Winter 2001 • All rights reserved.
Photo by Artem Kovalev on Unsplash.