MORE ROOM INSIDE. | By: Terry Collett | | Category: Poem - Religous Bookmark and Share


You must allow
more room for God,
Sister Agnes said.

Martha squeezed out
the floorcloth
over the sink.

I do,
she said.

Even while
you are doing
manual tasks?
Agnes asked.  

Martha squeezed the cloth
so tight her knuckles
turned white.

I try,
she said.

Agnes nodded
her head slowly:
Allow Him space
whatever you do;
let Him talk to you.

Martha put the cloth
beside the basin,
and put both
under the sink.

The older nun
had walked off.

Martha watched her go;
her hands were wet
so she dried them
on a towel
behind the door.

She took out
the crucifix
from the large pocket
of her habit.

She kissed
the Crucified,
silver plated Christ
on a brown
wooden cross.

She liked the one
in the breakfast room
the best.

It was big
and the Crucified
was large and of flesh
colour plaster,
on a big wooden cross,
the nails banged
into the wounds
had been polished
to a nice shine.

On depressed days,
she would put her lips
on each wound
and kiss gently,
the wounded head
where the thorns seemed
to have been
pressed in so hard.

The silver plated Christ
was smaller
and his wounds seemed
less horrific.

But it was still Him,
still her Crucified;
she kissed his five wounds
including the wound
where the lance
had been thrust.

She put Him away
in the large pocket
of her habit,
and made her way
along the cloister
to her cell.

Although she
called it her refuge;
where she could sit
in the old armchair
with the crucifix
taken down
from the wall
and gaze
at the Crucified.

She rubbed
a finger along
His arm,
touched His hand
kissed His head
her wounded Crucified.

Few of the nuns
at the convent
really understood her;
one or two
had their doubts.

Sister Agnes
seemed to understand
she said.

But even she
didn't quite know
what went on
in Martha's
dark haired head.

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