Each morning
After early morning prayers
You would descend the stairs
To the refectory
For a mug of French coffee
Held between cold hands
Honouring the Grand Silence
Looking up
At the high windows
As the dawn peered
Through the glass
For very first time
And you felt as if God
Had touched you
With His holy finger
On your shoulder
As each particle
Of your all
Too human flesh
Became tense and colder.
Each sip of the hot
French coffee sipped
Between chilled lips
Reminded you of Paris
As a young girl
And your sister
Hand in hand beside you
Showing you
The Sacré-Cœur,
But not her broken heart
Or what her love of man
Had done to her
Until she years later
In a suicide note
She told you all.
You looked away
From the high window
To where the early morning light
Brought her sad shadow
To the adjacent wall.
Comments
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Terry, i love this poem so much, it is like a painting; a motion picture, the tinting of the color i see is really subdued and i think it is just such an interesting story. I have a few suggestions which i'll message you tonight.
Tara
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wow...very sad piece...my brother kept a secret from me all thru our childhood and we were very close...it almost killed me when he finally came out with it a couple years ago.
it was painful to hear
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thank you, Catie.
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