Metal swung in counting time.
You could always hear the metronome,
given enough quiet time.
The beat played out
there in the ordinary movement -
A swish of heavy cloth
or footsteps along a corridor.
The quickening pace raised to ageing steps
each time-boards’ creak on sprung wood
according to each suffered weight...
We calculated her steps - counted in her coming.
Her Rosary so prayerfully hung
swung in beaded regularity
at the uphill climb and I wondered
was it enough - That Christian struggle?
The lone burden and sanctified life in the slog of tedious motion...