Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

From infirmary to refectory
Takes all of half-hour with the old nun
Walking along the cloister with Sister

Teresa beside her. Not so fast, the
Old nun says, holding tight to the frame, one
Foot slow before the other, the trouble

With you young ones is you have no patience.
Sister Teresa walks slowly on, her
Young hand just beneath the nun’s arm. Each word

Of compliant, each moan, each hardy stare, were
Just small nails to pierce the pride, to pinprick
Those areas where pride’s grip still holds strong.

Whatever you do to others, she now
Remembers, you do to me. She gives a
Smile to the old nun, lets her soft hand squeeze

Gently the old nun’s arm. Each hard step a
Footstep to Calvary; each word a long
Piercing nail hammered home to flesh and soul.

The refectory is crowded. Sister
Teresa finds the seat where the old nun
Sits, eases her down gently. You are so

Slow, the old nun says, the young these days are
Bone-idle. Sister Teresa smiles and
Fusses about the old nun’s cutlery

And napkin, pours her water. The old nun
Looks at the calm hands moving about her,
The ease of movement, the peacefulness of

Touch, the smile lingering like a summer’s
Warmth on a summer’s day on aging skin.

Calvary's lonely mountain climb. Brings thoughts of the patient orderlies at the nursing home I visit, pushing and wiping and guiding and living with. Holy work indeed.

Thank you, Joel.

Gently the old nun’s arm. Each hard step a
Footstep to Calvary; each word a long
Piercing nail hammered home to flesh and soul.

dug this part especially. good stuff, man. you really have a good sense of what convent life must be like.

Thank you, mnaz. Spent a short while in a monastery in my well spent youth.