Wait

Wait

Mathew Escott

On certain Sundays my parents wake early
Called to cut careful squares from
Bread balanced on the edge of tomorrow.

Similar cubes wind their way down my pew
Many miles away. I always pass them by,
Hands stayed by a desire for the whole
Loaf that leads them in procession.

I want to fill my mouth with memory
Feel my fumbling fingers tearing into skin
A broken vessel pouring forth
Treasure that hints at time when
Hunger will be stilled.

In this meantime, love-struck tongues sing
Songs that carry scars,
Wandering fields of wheat, plucking accusations
To grind between teeth blessed by a release,
Squinting to glimpse a robe’s edge
Rising on the wind, straining for a touch
Whispering still, it won’t be enough.

Yet.

---

Mathew Escott
Youth Worker

Matt lives in Toronto with his wife and 5 year old twin boys. For the last 11 years he has worked with youth experiencing homelessness, and is currently developing a mentorship program for youth in foster care. This is his first published poem.

Photography by Ivan Bandura