ALL FOR JESUS.

NUN AND HER LIFE

Sister Bridget sweeps
the wooden floor

of the refectory
with a large stiff broom.

She holds the handle
Tight between small hands.

Senses the hardness of wood
against soft flesh.

Make sure
you sweep it clean,

Sister Francis had said,
some novices we’ve had

have left crumbs
beneath benches

Or cobwebs
in the corners

of high windows.
Her eyes scan

beneath long oak tables.
Take in

the highly polished floor
with smell

of polish and soap.
She moves along

the refectory
noticing the Crucified

high up on the wall
above the abbess’s table

with arms spread wide
and hammered hands

firmly nailed down.
She pauses sweeping

and sees how sunlight
oozes through glass windows

and onto tables and floor
like slippery spilt juice.

All for Jesus
Sister Francis had said.

Her words spoken
as if carved from stone.

Sister Bridget leans her hands
on the broom’s top

her chin resting
on her hands

smelling the scent
of fresh baked bread

and seeing along
the refectory wall

black clothed nuns
who were dead.