The slab lies flat on the floor along the base of the south wall, and a structural column of the west aisle presses down onto its surface, as though the building itself has slowly consumed the grave marker it was built to outlast.

The slab is a tapering limestone panel, surviving at just under one and a half metres in length, with its upper portion broken away entirely. What remains is still legible enough to reward close attention. Carved into its surface in incised lines, meaning cut directly into the stone rather than raised in relief, are the remnants of a cross design of some sophistication. Two double-ringed circles survive near the break, with a semi-circular incised line running between them. Below these, a circular knop, a rounded decorative boss, marks the point from which the cross shaft descends as two parallel lines toward a trefoil base, itself outlined by a double incised line. The trefoil, a three-lobed form common in medieval ecclesiastical carving, gives the composition a formal, considered quality despite the damage. Maher noted the slab in 1997, and the design, though fragmentary, places it within a tradition of Irish medieval graveslabs that used geometric and foliate ornament rather than figural imagery to mark the dead.

The abbey itself is a Dominican foundation in County Tipperary, and the transept where this slab lies would have been a space of particular significance, used for private burial by patrons and benefactors. That the slab has since become structural substrate rather than a legible memorial is one of those small architectural ironies that accumulate in long-used religious buildings. The carving is still there, visible beneath the column base if you know to look for it, half-obscured and pressed into the floor of a ruin that has long since stopped registering it as remarkable.