THE HARD LOVE.

A nun and her understanding of the hard love.

Sister Therese knows these
Cloisters well; knows each
Nook and cranny, knows the

Church and pews, the room
They call a cell, the bed of
Straw and sacking cloth.

Utters prayers even when
They seem unheard, unnoticed
Like some face within a crowd.

She understands the essence
Of love, not the love of loved
Or want to be loved or the loved,

But the hard love of loving those
She finds it hard to like, those
Who annoy, whose very being

Gets to her heart and head, yet
These she loves, sets out to act
And care for and be with more

Than those who are easier to
Love and be with and care for.
She understands her bridegroom’s

Love, understands His way and
Silent steps, His being there even
When His touch seems not or

Presence gone or sensing nothing
Of His being clings to Him with the
Love of faith and will and knows

That despite the dark and doubts
And her humanness and sins,
He will come and love her still.

Reviews

[just rose.]

I think the life of a religious is one of duty and anticipation. I remember when I contemplated this for myself my father said I could still wear a ring, but Christ is the bridegroom. I love the sacrificial sense of this nun, but I also see through the resignation to the longing for something that's distant but present; there is a subjugation of the self that she projects into the nooks and crannies of those cloisters, as if in looking out what's empty inside will be filled. Well expressed.