The Rule of the Monastery

If only they had nodded their heads
and let me go on writing poems
instead of driving the sisters to the emergency room
when their hearts stiffened up on them and they needed
surgery or stents or bed rest or to be told
they could go on painting in oils and watercolors
without another things to burden their minds.
But, I did transport them--the frightened nuns.
And I did it well.
Now, years later, through divine providence or the luck
of the draw
I am homebound on chemotherapy, and writing poetry
is all they expect.
Perhaps it is karma.
But after all this time, ideas elude me
And the pencil is dull.

From A Hermit Holds My Heart
Ellen Porter
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