i woke up this morning
groggy from the strange bed
and the new pillows.
“good morning,”
i say aloud.
at first, nothing but silence.
the house is empty, so silence is not extraordinary.
after a few seconds on the edge of the bed,
i  know that i am not alone.
there are stirrings in the silence,
the sound of benedict and patrick,
brigid, clare, and maura,
ita, oscar, scholastica.
they are my friends, these saints
and they go with me always,
eat with me, sleep near me,
watch over me, talk with me.
my prayers are their prayers.
they sing in the silence
and find me when i lose myself.


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