Some of my own starved a few lifetimes ago. I do not consider what survives of them during Sunday lunch, though a wafer that morning may have stirred a trace of loss in my gut, an ache for something holy, something real – an absence made of love.
Yes I'll think of them then, the O'Dees, the Boyles, the Boners walking the aisle for the ghost of sustenance, yearning for bread, not spirit, stock, not redemption – for new lives to be handed down.
Kieran Setright is a mental health worker from Buckinghamshire.