Julian of Norwich in Her Sick Bed

The stone walls stay cool on this late summer afternoon.
Bushels of golden apple light tumble through my small window,
casting a yellow square on the floor
which shifts slowly all day like a tired pilgrim.
The tabby cat places herself into this warm glow,
sighing each hour as she rises again to follow its journey.

A breeze rustles in and I gulp down autumn’s early arrival
like being under a waterfall.
All day I watch the sun travel, the cat shift,
the snail make its way up my wall leaving a trail
like the tears that streak my face into a map of desire.

At night I dream I can fly, slip out the window into the dark liquid sky,
feel the night lift me onto her back like a wave cresting
and I am suddenly more than these frozen limbs,
I can taste the stars, flakes of sea salt sprinkled across black silk.

The moon opens her wide mouth as if to sing,
then swallows me, takes me inside her
until I know myself as one who waxes and wanes, who shines brightly
and sometimes disappears into darkness.

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This poem also appears in the May 2022 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 87, No. 5, page 27). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.