I spoke loudly so she could hear me:
“Sister, this is like a parable,” I said.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“It’s like a parable!” I said, louder still.
“Terrible?” she asked. “Terrible?”
And I leaned in, lips by her ear, calling,
“A parable, Sister! It’s like a parable!”
“Oh!” she beamed, tilting her head.
She was a nun, and at ninety-six,
would soon be taken from earth’s circle
to the place where paradox and parable
fly home. Seventy years before, she’d
vowed her life to God. In the solemn rite
a simple ring of gold was given, her name
and her Lord’s inscribed in its band—an Easter
covenant, she was resurrection’s bride.
Only a few years passed and she lost her ring
when she was engaged in the hand-soiling toil
of plucking chickens, like a daily antiphon
of prayer and praise, repeated throughout
her monastic days. Perhaps she’d threaded
her ring on a willow wand to keep it bright
and then a magpie claimed it, but neither
searching nor praying retrieved it.
The loss was bitter, but finally borne
with wistful acceptance. Now, at ninety-six,
her senses weak through time’s overuses,
rickety in knee and gait, the eternal Surpriser
surprised her. A metal detector, swung
by a friend looking for Roman coins
in our field, divined a purer prize—tucked
inside a ruck of soil: heaven’s tiny herald, the ring,
the two names still chasing each other
round and round the golden circle. “I think
it means the Lord has not forgotten me,”
she said. And I think (but didn’t say aloud)
it was never really lost: just kept by the One
who knows heart’s measure, and knows when
to hide and when to reveal his treasures hid
in blue earth’s aching fields.
Johanna Caton, O.S.B., is a Benedictine nun of Minster Abbey in England. Originally from Virginia, her monastic vocation took her to England. She writes poetry because the process helps her to understand the word and work of God in her life. She is a regular contributor to the Catholic Poetry Room. Her poems have been included in anthologies, among which are All Shall be Well, Poems for Julian of Norwich and Thin Places and Sacred Spaces, both edited by Sarah Law and published by Amethyst Press. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Today’s American Catholic, Vita Poetica, One Art, Fare Forward, Christian Century, St. Austin Review, Ekphrastic Review, Fathom Magazine, Windward Review and other publications. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee.