Carmelites

the day is yet unripeand so we clamor to our kneesto beg a little loving lighta little crack of lightto break through the prismed panesthat surround us.

sifting through the dreams of nightsnot just oursbut history'srecorded dreams unscrolled in our minds,we subsist on the stories told—the scriptural truths in bitssized to our hunger and seasonedto taste so that we have sampleda spectrum of lights with our tonguegleaming in the radiance of morningrevelationssung in flowing chordsas viscous as the oil lamps we burnduring dark shadows.

though we become turgid with expectation,our joints twitching for His return,we wash the stained windowsto let through the rays,and filter through the roughas a day of sacrificefor every tarnished doorknob that needs polishedby our prayerwe crawl our way upthe mountain crag and nestlein a hidden nookkeeping both eyes vigilantfor His shadow to cross the garden path,to oust the dark of nightand call us home for dinner.

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Atalie Young ’05 is an English and American Literature and Language concentrator in Quincy House.