REFECTORY MUSING 1971

A YOUNG MAN IN AN ABBEY IN 1971 HAUNTED BY A WOMAN

The office of Sext was over,
we walked to the refectory for lunch,
I followed Dom Matthew,

the sun's light warmed me
as I walked the cloister,
flowers in the garth smelt fresh,

I kissed her,
a stolen kiss
when she wasn't looking,

the refectory was busy,
but all was of a hush,
monks got bread

and went stood by
their benches,
sunlight shone through

the coloured glass windows,
the reader was sorting his books
from the high stand,

she stood naked
and spread her arms wide,
all this is yours,

she said,
I stood between
George and Gareth,

we awaited the abbot's
knock for prayers to begin
and grace said,

the French monk,
looked at the sunlight
that touched his sandaled feet,

the abbot knocked,
Latin graces were said,
she opened to me

like a flower,
come bee,
buzz to me,

she uttered,
we sat on the benches,
prepared our knives and forks,

a monk pushed a trolley
to our table,
poured soup in large bowls,

the reader began to read
from some book on Cromwell,
I supped the soup,

pea, green, hot,
and I supped on her
laying there,

water?
George said
offering the jug,

sunlight played shapes
on the table,
the monk opposite

across the way,
ate brown bread,
broke it in

a pious kind of way,
Corpus Christi,
I thought,

supping soup,
and come sup me,
she said with a smile,

the meal went on,
no chatter,
just the reader

in a one toned voice
reading about Cromwell,
I am,

she said,
a special kind
of girl.