At the halfway point of a silent retreat
I wandered into lunch and found a seat
between the sisters and the other tourists
like me dipping a toe into monastic waters.
At the end of the buffet line was a revelation.
Sweet potato cheesecake. Thick-sliced.
Could I enjoy this delight here
in the midst of an austere ascetic exercise?
Merton didn’t write about cheesecake.
I heard a voice say, “Enjoy.” It very well
could have been my own rationalizing mind
though who’s to say it wasn’t God. Not me.
I plunged my fork into four floors of heaven,
careful to build a bite that held it all.
I smiled before the cake touched my lips;
savored the very thought of the taste.
The sweetness struck my tongue
like lightning and I was pushed back
in my chair by the sheer force of the flavor.
This sweet potato sacrament, a grace
infused in the substance and accidents
of cheesecake, divinity in a crumbling crust.
Once again, a dining table became an altar
and the gathered crowd of nuns and newbs
sat in silence eating their lunch oblivious
to the latter day Bethel at the end of the line.
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Love this! My favorite line: “Merton didn’t write about cheesecake.” LOL!