Sarah Law


The Antechoir

Last night I dreamt I was there,
in the antechoir, the space between

cloister and chapel, movement
and pure prayer. A waiting room –

where the sisters gather in pairs,
cream cloaks over workaday habits,

blinking the sleep from their eyes,
or the day from their minds. I was

alone, barefoot on the wooden floor
and I sensed her presence there;

Thérèse, not novice-young, nor yet
in solemn crowned repose,

but waiting in this place as though
to welcome them with a shaft of grace –

the drift of little souls she would lift up
against the window filled with light.