With the Berryville Monks on Christmas Eve (Poem)

Geertgen tot Sint Jans, Nativity by Night 

With the Berryville Monks on Christmas Eve

I her namesake wait,
the one
in solemn darkness
broken in threads of light
borne of tiny pillars of white
held up and out and all around me,
expectant, pegging the midnight hour
to the last drop of wax
soft as my heart is, opening.

Lowing
voices, theirs,
I hear before
brown robes
I see.

They, lulling
their story
unfolding from notes
composed for angels,
for shepherds, for the faith-full
sheltering in mountains
in a valley in Virginia.

Preludes for hymns
and organ voluntaries,
their Gloria, a litany of alleluias,
chants fixing my ear
to their devotions
of the solo redeemer.

They at the altar
our carols join
a first noel, a lullaby
for a child is born
among us a joy to the world
this one night.

Their Gloria
in my stillness quickened,
pulling together
who have been apart
this one night,
their silence given
my sudden, effortless song.

© 2010 Maureen E. Doallas 
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This poem was inspired by L.L. Barket's "It's a Pronoun Christmas" at Seedlings in Stone.

One of the most deeply moving Christmas Eve masses I've experienced was at Holy Cross Abbey, in Berryville, Virginia, home to the Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance (Trappists). 

I offer this poem for One Stop Poetry's weekly One Shot Wednesday event. Be sure to visit the site late Tuesday afternoon and evening and every Wednesday for links to the many contributors' "one shot" poems.

Geertgen tot Sint Jans

Nativity by Night