I The Chapel speaks
Place your hand upon these walls,
soft on rough rock hewn haphazard
into a house of prayer.
Trace each beam and upright
of the Stations of the Cross, scratched
into fourteen rough grey stones.
Put your finger in the marks of the masons
working burnt-rose blocks fit
for an everlasting altar.
II Sanctuary lamp
On the altar at the Eucharist are lit
two candles, and three and three
tealights set in a stream of leaves
on the sanctuary step, but the one
thing that is needful is the faintest
light kept burning by the blessed
sacrament, day and night holding
all the darkness of the world at bay.
III The conviction of things not seen
At five o’clock
the chapel bell is rung
to call the community to evening prayer.
Thirty-three times,
the years of our Lord’s days.
Above the altar
the figure on the crucifix listens closely
as the thirty-third sounds
and fades away,
is silent and lingers.
IV
Yes my Lord and my God. Come,
scratch your sign on the walls
of my rocky heart.
Clare Bryden “At Tymawr Convent”, Theology, Volume 128, Issue 3, 23 May 2025.
Poetry. (2025). Theology, 128(3), 207-210. https://doi.org/10.1177/0040571X251335515 (Original work published 2025)