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In Dark Shadows.

the pepper pot

towards the nun
on her right.

The salt follows
once more given

a gentle shove.
To understand

another’s need
without them asking,

an elderly nun
had said.

A nun is reading
from a high desk

in the refectory.
Some book on Cromwell,

a life, back whenever when.
She sips her soup,

the French soup spoon
held in her right hand.

The nun on her left
passes the water jug.

Offers to pour.
Sister Felicity nods

and smiles.
The nun pours

a liberal amount
then puts down the jug.

Opposite an elderly nun
dribbles soup,

her shaky hand
missing the target.

Nan did that.
How can one forget?

She remembers
her grandmother’s

slow decline;
the slippery slope

down to the side ward
in the dank hospital.

Onion soup. Too hot.
She blows to cool.

Sunlight reaches down
through high windows.

Worlds explode
in dark shadows.

poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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