On Clothes Worn by Dead Jesuits

There's a creepy feel to it
On wearing clothes that had been
Worn by the dead
A disquieting thought envelops you
That the owners are turning in their graves
Muttering about their favorite shirts
Or jeans or the shoes they only
Wore on Sunday afternoons

Sometimes - I sense a pair of eyes
Looking grudgingly at the shirt I'm wearing
Or have that eerie feel that ghosts still wear
The pants I love as they flap wildly
In the midday wind
Probably, the old are forgetful
or they simply never want to leave their old ways

Warm shirts, on warm nights
Coagulate with cold spirits
Pyjamas that still bear the faded
Initials of their former masters,
Or blankets that years of use have pecked
Holes on them,
Pillows that whisper
What they spied from a pious man's head,
Or handkerchiefs that wiped a thousand drop
Of tears
All bear witness to the silent tradition
That the Dead provides for the Living

But the most disturbing of all
Is the belief that the soutane I mindlessly wear
Was probably worn by at least half a dozen
Holy men

copyright © 2003
by noel yngente bava
no part of this work may be lifted or quoted without prior written permission from the author