Monastery Glass

They spend their days praying,
meditating, copying 
scriptures

within
the white-washed
adobe
walls of their
scriptorium,

and
recording
centuries-old Byzantine
and
Gregorian
chants.

Singing for
mead,
sacramental
honey wine,
monastery
medicine.

"Come sit
supper
with us."

In a
traditional
chorus of
chimes,

a devotional
chorus of
high-pitched
wine glasses
and
brandy
snifters

are played
by the
monks

running
their
wet
fingers
around
the
wet rims

singing
for
mead.

Singing
glasses,

worshipping
Ireland's
Patron
Saint Patrick.

The glow of
the oil lamps
casts
a
forwarning
shadow:

Avoid the Seven Deadly Sins:

Vanity, because it takes you down a one-way street.

Covetousnous, because it makes you unhappy with what you have.

Lust, because very few can escape the consequences.

Gluttony, because it can destroy your competitive edge, making you lose to the person who keeps her appetite in check.

Anger because it is the greatest waste of energy.

Envy, because it reveals your weaknesses and makes you powerless.

Sloth, because the lazy, careless, and disorganized person is easy prey for competition.

"Young woman,
how do you
manage
lust?"

the head
monk asks
her,

lighting up
his
after-dinner
pipe
filled with
abbey
tobacco.

filtered
from sin,
of course.

"A woman
such as
myself
weeps with
one eye
and
laughs
with
the
other."

 Copyright 2005 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist