The Monk a Chair Away
He was already there when I
Came in and seemed at first asleep,
But no, he actually was deep
In something hard to classify
(We’ll call it prayer for now;
It doesn’t matter anyhow.
What matters only is its depth…).
He'd come from the infirmary
To sit before the Sacrament,
Hunched over yet an elegant
Embodiment of sanctity
That definition overstepped.
And so I took the chair but one
From him and as I sat before
The Presence, felt some inner shore
Recede from view: it had begun.
Then in the dim and silence heard
A rhythm faint yet undeterred:
His breathing, gentle as a hymn,
So fragile I was rendered awed
To be there in the morning dark
With a beloved patriarch
Who simply wants to sit with God
And I to simply sit with him.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, Amethyst Review, America Magazine, Pensive Journal, Forma Journal, and The Society of Classical Poets. He is a certified catechist with the Archdiocese of New York, a Benedictine oblate of St. Mary’s Abbey in Morristown, NJ, and editor of The Catholic Poetry Room.
Amethyst Review 