RUBBER OF THE ROSARY.

A NUN AND HER LIFE OF PRAYERS AND THE ROSARY.

I am the rubber of the rosary,
said Sister Paul, my finger and
thumb move over the beads like
a humble worm, I utter prayers

like a hissing snake, my breath
rising in the air like a frightened
bird. The silence enfolds me like
my lover’s arms, its peacefulness

kisses my ears like my lover’s lips,
the touch of the thick silence my
lover’s fingertips. His breath breathes
upon my neck, His requests utter

In my ears, His love echoes through
my being. The darkness embraces
me like a black cloth, my eyes see
shadows in nightly prayers, my sight

fails me with its tired eyes, the late
nights, the on knees prayers, the
going up and down the stairs to
and from the chilling chapel. I am

a denier of self, my self denial is
my weapon against the selfish I,
my way of keeping the ego in its
place, the surging wanter of wants

kept check, each fight for self denial
takes its toll, the selfish I wants its
revenge, seeks its way through my
daily walks, my day to day talks,

the moment of eating, drinking,
sleeping, the dreaming nights.
My lover comes at my least request,
His eyes see me in the darkness’s

hold, His fingers find me and release
my bonds, His words echo through
the blackest night, His love warmer
than the sun’s kiss, His nearness

closer than air to lungs, than stars
to sky. My Lover comes, my prayers
are heard, my soul is lifted up, my
finger and thumb push round the black

beads, He is there, noting each whispered
prayer, he lays me upon my bed, rests
me down, His holy lips healing my soul,
granting peace to my all too human head.