The Nun From inscribing the sign of the cross On her soft body for so many years Small marks appeared At each shoulder, her forehead, her chest, Not stigmata, but divots where her flesh Had given way under her fingers Like stone dimpled by the metronomic Drip of water, so that when the coroner Who volunteered to drive clear Out to the oak-cloaked convent To lay out the dead nuns Laid her out, he saw what Her faith had done, but told no one.
The Nun
The Nun
The Nun
The Nun From inscribing the sign of the cross On her soft body for so many years Small marks appeared At each shoulder, her forehead, her chest, Not stigmata, but divots where her flesh Had given way under her fingers Like stone dimpled by the metronomic Drip of water, so that when the coroner Who volunteered to drive clear Out to the oak-cloaked convent To lay out the dead nuns Laid her out, he saw what Her faith had done, but told no one.