Holy Saturday Vigil
Craving dark bread, cured meats, garlic pickles, and mustard
Food here has no flavor in the land of Germans, Danes, and Czechs
Formerly
Tonight's loaves were crusty, well-seeded, and tasted of nowhere
A montonity only possible to produce with factory farming
In spite of its failing I confess my piece of the body of Christ
Did convey communion
In the midst of bland
The season of hope
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