LA SACRESTIA ABBANDONATA Poem, by Robert Tilleard, at My poetic side

‘And what is actual is actual for only one time

And only one place…’

ASH WEDNESDAY T.S.Eliot

After saying the Latin Mass, the priest

Quietly closes the sacristy door.

It is Ash Wednesday and the sacristan –

The holy palm ash cross still on his brow –

Locks it fast shut until the next Sunday;

But forty days go by and no one comes

And the palm ashes are now holy dust.

Hidden in the wardrobe are the vestments:

The priest’s white alb tunic now not so pure;

His chasuble covering now sinned against;

His stole – at hand for drying – now unwashed.

Unconsecrated wines, some for the Mass,

Some wisely kept back for the thirsty priest,

Not needed now, and only vinegar.

The waiting jug is empty of water,

Of no use to the spirit of the stairs.

This place is no longer the only place,

Entombed now, not embalmed but decaying -

And what is actual is for all time.

After forty days it is deserted

And now forsaken for eternity.

The sacrestia abbandonata.

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