Early Morning Seminary

By Vernice Wineera Pere

Midwinter.

We are spectral figures

in the black predawn.

Speaking only in muffled tones

we brave the thick frost of the parking-lot

and negotiate the darkened chapel

to meet in our classroom

as beings seeking company

in some small cave.

Lights on.

The furnace sporadically

coughs warm air

into our conversations,

and you raise slow hands

to answer my probing

of your sleep-starved senses.

I, in turn, interpret all your yawns

to my instructive needs

and perceive the glimmer

of the spirit in your eyes

that urges me to give my best

while yet wondering

whether it is at all worth it.

Then comes the Sabbath,

and you declare testimonies

to the Lord

before the ward

that wring tears from my doubt.

I, with the congregation,

observe your youthful grace

as you repeat convictions

I recognize from class.

O my young friends,

I know then, with God,

it is indeed worth

my small effort.