Curving toward the center

I leave the pew
and get in line for that little wafer that I don’t understand
in a community I don’t frequent:
I am a stranger in this semi-foreign land
and in the other line of people
a little girl looks at me, then hurls herself, her soul, her body
into my arms. “Hello!” she cries out over the music
and, stunned, I get down on one knee,
look her in the eyes, and say, “Why hello there, honey,”
and the two of us stop both communion lines
as the mother tries to apologize,
as I hug that angel who’s so fiercely hugging me
and who, in her own dazzling way, with soft feathers, is welcoming me home.

© Meisaan Chan