THE SUPPER

The monks run at the sound of the dinner bell
their habits raised as are their appetites.
We too run, spurred on by hunger
and a talkative monk.
The refectory of wooden benches and tables carved away by time
resounds with the banging down of pewter plates.
The abbot quickly enters, preceded by his court.
He blesses the bread while the monk whose
turn it is to read from the Scriptures soars to the pulpit.
The monk spews out psalms in Greek to the rhythm
of the abbot' s eating, his devouring.
And like a chorus of violins reminiscent of muffled bells
the arms, hands, and spoons of the monks accompany him.
All at once, all is still and silent.
The abbot has decided to finish eating.
“Everyone must leave,” says an old monk,
his eyes resting on our full plates,
“supper is over.”
In the night of the monastery hunger accompanies
the pilgrimage of the soul.