Long expired, gelatinous sweetmeats

cut like sugar-dusted limestone

sweat and pool inside their sealed white box

set deep in a domestic vault ;

behind poppy seeds, self-raising flour

and red dye – for resurrection recipes.

He brought them when he came,

a week before Greek Easter;

hauling them in a suitcase packed

to bursting with the lucent, marbled slabs:

Corporeal spoils before faith or his

steeped heart like these sweets fails.


First published in Obsessed By Pipework


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