Poured and Shaped

I

In one cupped hand I hold
the cup of His blood poured,
He said, for me. Looking down
I’m astonished to see in that cup
a regular pulse, a cadence disturbing
the dark liquid surface
in the cup of His blood poured
for me. It takes some time
for me to see that this pulsing is
my own heart beating
in the cup of His blood—
and now, every time,
if I hold still I can see
how my very heartbeat pours into
the cup of His blood poured
for me.

II

When a child reads
a good book for the first time
she doesn’t just take it
in like a worn-out vessel
hoarding the blessing too long,
until it coagulates and can be
poured no longer. She pours
her self, still liquid, into
the pages written
for her
and becomes
shaped.

***

Two poems for the poetry prompt to write a poem using another’s words as “triggers.” I don’t know that my poems are really related to the trigger, but here’s my trigger (some lines from Anne Fadiman’s foreword to Rereadings):

The first time [reading a particular book], especially if it’s in childhood, is induplicable. It is customary to speak of children as vessels into which books are poured, but I think the reverse analogy is more accurate: children pour themselves into books, changing their shape to fit each vessel. . . . I think that’s why so many children prefer fiction and so many adults prefer nonfiction. As we age, we coagulate. Our shapes become fixed and we can no longer be poured.

– Anne Fadiman, Rereadings, pp. xiv-xv.

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4 thoughts on “Poured and Shaped

  1. “this pulsing is
    my own heart beating
    in the cup of His blood—”

    Wow, Monica. That is new imagery for me. I love how you worded it and made it so real in my mind. I’ll think about this today…

  2. “she pours herself, still liquid, into the pages written for her and becomes shaped…” I am going to use that in my prayers, to be shaped more like Him in whose image I was created. :-)

  3. Pingback: Baptizing a Cup

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