Issue > Poetry
Monastic
Silence—the gristle
on which I chewed
day after day.
I can't describe the taste.
Have you studied the space
between leaves on a tree?
Daily, we worked in the garden
side by side. I treasured each
labored breath of my brothers,
each small grunt.
I befriended a spider in the corner
of my window—carcasses
of flies drying on the sill.
Did I meet God? I understood less
more clearly. God's
patience—my common prayer.