Hildegard of Bingen on her deathbed, September1179
That polished, hot smell
like a room closed too long-
is there an open flame?
Such flickering in the shadows,
swirls of marble, sea pebbles,
then deep forest green.
How is it I see these now?
In those hours from four to sext,
do your reading, daughters.
You will have from Easter
to October for outdoor work.
Test the candles, Clementia-
that sweet scent. See them lit.
Hang them in the hallway
outside the chapel. For thirty days,
remember, after I am dead.
Did I not say that I would die
in mid-September? Too long
this dryness in my marrow.
That form on the wall,
the crest and dagger of purple-
and there, a yellow orb,
a diamond flanked by darts.
Those colors, Clementia, in the center-
gold and red, cerise, then amber-
how like arcs of lightning.
The light of Christ.
Let the rainfall be grace.
Let this green earth take me.
Stella Nesanovich