THE OLD CONVENT
New Norcia, October 1999

I wear my atheism
in this spatial room
where dark wood creeps up
knots around my wrists
ties me to blood red chairs.
Stripped of intellect
I write words.
Duty bound
like those women before me
I feel welts on my back
turn to see where I’ve come from
see Christ on a cross.
The salt in my wounds dries.