Spring 1989 • Vol. XI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1989 |

Communion at Coldwater Baptist Church

Travis Cox, our quick side tackle, went both ways, covered ground like a leopard, saw the whole field in a glance, near laughing with joyous, animal eyes when he found the ball carrier. He hit you like fire in old houses. On half a scholarship out of high school, he later lost the playfulness for a junior college coach who taught him to roam the field at will, consuming what he found. With dense, heavy arms pumping, Travis led the singing: songs of rivers, rocks, fire, and blood to wash in, to love and die in, soaked and shaken. With Travis, we assaulted those left in unholy places, bought them back in song, until we sat down on the benches with whoever remained. When he read the words in the book, the wolves and lambs and snakes eating together, passed out the silvered plates of crumbs and juice, I felt something, a presence, like beast-heavy breath around me. And when we stood up to leave, I stayed inside the open-doored church and watched mothers in haloed dust swirl walk

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Travis Cox, our quick side tackle, went both ways, covered ground like a leopard, saw the whole field in a glance, near laughing with joyous, animal eyes when he found […]

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