Sacrament

KEN HADA

This is the way the sun rises.

A body spent in darkness
reflects the first moments of light.

You gaze like one lost in the desert
trying to decipher the source of life,
to separate what is, and what never was.

You know a mirage is something
to be followed – a harsh truth,
a vision to be endured

if you can; but it's a lie that mirrors
some truth somewhere – yet
knowing that infringes on your soul.

While the body follows, you grasp
for authenticity, but will trade
everything for pleasure.

But some truth beyond calls us,
and the act itself becomes
a means of grace – portal
to moments of paradise.

You hold your breath in the soft glow
of morning, taking it all in –
trying not to be a romantic fool,
but the senses betray a language,
a babel that can't be denied,
should not be censored –
something like the brush
meeting the oil – the tip loaded
for expression that always surprises 
deep in the night.

You wait for more light, drowsing 
bits of sleep between sideways glances
at the body alongside yours.

Satisfied, speechless, light sneaks
in between the blinds, a bird sings
on the other side of the wall.

Your esteem rises, confirms 
like the crust of a blue-ribbon pie
at the county fair – everyone knows
in the abstract – but the elegant taste
of tongue on the texture
sweetens the sadness around us.

Touch me and take me away.

The body makes the soul. 
The soul is the union of bodies
in honest pleasure
when nothing else interferes,
when nothing compromises –
and there is no time.

Ken Hada's most recent books are Contour Feathers (Turning Plow Press, 2021) and Sunlight & Cedar (Vacpoetry 2020). Ken's work has been featured on The Writer's Almanac and has been awarded by The National Western Heritage Museum and SCMLA. He is a professor at East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma.

​More at: kenhada.org

TABLE OF CONTENTS    |     ⇦    ⇨