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GATES OF ST MACHAR'S CATHEDRAL
I am standing in the queue waiting to die, quite near
The front. Not rushing, shuffling forward. Neither anxious
Nor sad, impetuous nor slow. I shall not be sorry to go.
I shall be nothing, and that is quite exciting.
I shall enter into the quiet mouth of the earth like a whisper. So inviting
To slide below the soil like a weary sleeper, drawing the covers
Up above my head. Folk say there's no discourse amongst the dead.
I shall go like a fly, into the waiting spider.
I am looking through the gate of a Worship-House,
Along a path of bridal-joys and christenings.
The slow sway of the coffin, the heavy tread
Of grief, has worn the pitted slabs away,
Like hollow fonts, much wetted by rain glistenings.
I am viewing a hallowed house where the faithful keep
An hour's appointment with Heaven, once a week.
A holy place, with pews of weathered grace
In truth, a sanctuary, a blessed breathing space
Dumb tongue, stopped foot, where schedules can't prevail
Where man adopts the wisdom of the snail.
Entrance and Exit of allotted span, this Portal. No revolving office door
Where flushed executives return for more. No jack-knife lift in the busy shopping store.
The trees are weighted with their freight of leaves,
Cargoes of unseen doves in crooing eaves.
The day slides from the sky, as darkening cloud
Enfolds the evening like a shadow-shroud.
Like a tired woman slipping off her dress
Jewellery discarded, sparkling on the press.
Long rows of graven gravestones underline
The seed of generations, scythed by Time.
From high-tech whiz, to ageing city gent
The mortgagee of the tomb, where Death's the rent.
A raven curls its crooked claws around the metal cross that grows from the kirk spire
Its rasping croak, the solitary sound as gloaming sets the ashen sky afire.
St Machar planned it all, with shepherd's crook,
Kirk ritual, a quiet place, a Book.
Peace reigns, like honey swimming in a cell
That bees return to sip from. A deep well
Of quietude, where only bell and psalm
Break the unruffled pool of inner calm.
Sheena Blackhall
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