Anchoress

Last night I was a wanton Anchoress,

In a stone and bone cathedral, in Rome.

Haven’t seen death since I played him in chess,

But I felt him close, in my new chalk home;

Hiding between flesh and stained-glass windows,

Mercy of a cross and a ticking clock.

I walked slowly down the candle-lit rows,

“Depart, Sister,” the priest gave me a shock,

As he led me to my own funeral.

Not dead, but an Anchoress, I was shown,

To a room behind an icy stone wall.

For my whole life I was to wait alone,

Could I devote my life to prayer and song?

Cage me and maybe I’ll do nothing wrong.