TEACHER
I know I’ve made a christ of you
the way I gather up the crumbs
beneath your table, the way I bathe
your feet with my hair.
But this blind worship
won’t do, and I must take and eat
new prayer. Teacher! It was not given me
to sit at your right hand or your left.
Thought you saw me under the fig tree,
but it was just a trick of the light
cleft between branches.
