Читать книгу Benedict’s Daughter - Philip C. Kolin - Страница 11

Sext

The Hour Christ Died

Midday, the sext hour, mealtime

for all the empty eyes waiting

in the long soup lines at St. Meinrad’s.

They are Christ suffering—

the homeless, the betrayed, and

the abandoned; children with distended stomachs

wounded by hunger and thirst;

seniors crucified on a fixed income.

They have not read Benedict’s Rule

on providing hospitality

or giving guests a pound weight of bread,

and pilgrims a hemina of wine.

But they know the black monks

will fill them with all good things:

red jello bouncing like a pounding heart;

meatloaf in thick brown gravy;

mashed potatoes puffy as cumulus clouds in April.

The sun is at its fullest

as they leave; the hour Christ died.

But as they walk out, one

by one, the monks bless each

with a hyssop branch,

dipped in holy water.