Farmhouse, 1948

Leaning against the kitchen sink,

cold linoleum beneath her thin house dress,

the young woman sat slumped—

a half peeled Idaho potato in one hand and

a rusty handled peeler in the other.

 

Her lover sat down beside her,

clad in illustrious robes,

his skin aglow with a Princely radiance.

He placed his strong arm around her,

drawing her nigh unto him.

His embrace was gentle and tender.

 

Tears streaked down her face

as she thought quietly to herself,

Sea Island Cotton.”

His scent was like sea island cotton.

 

Something in her heart gave way,

like a vice grip loosened.

From cavernous depths came a

groaning, moaning, weeping.

 

He pressed her in closer to him,

humming a melodic tune

until she wept no more.

 

A peace covered

the length of her body—

warm and enveloping.

 

He whispered into her ear, “I love you.”

 

The young woman opened her eyes slowly.

 

A very tall, statuesque woman

with translucent skin stood over them,

swaying to and fro, and

hummed the same melodic tune.

 

Beside them, in the kitchen doorway leading outside,

was another attendant. A man, also very tall and

statuesque, stood strumming a guitar and sang

in a language the young woman

did not immediately recognize.

 

Both the attendants were dressed

in a kind of armour that appeared

to be a part of their bodies—

Gold and silver weaves of mesh,

like tiny threads of light.

 

The young woman sat up and looked

into her lover’s glowing eyes.

 

What song is he singing,” she asked.

 

He kissed her wet cheeks and smiling said,

A song I wrote for you.”

 

She touched her lover’s face and turned

to watch the attendant in the doorway.

 

What language is he singing in,”

she asked, closing her eyes.

 

Our language,” He whispered from behind her.

 

He placed his hands gently over her ears

and then slowly pulled them away.

 

The words sung spiraled into her heart:

I have bound your heart

And set you free.

Now, I am in you

And you are in me.

 

Touching his palm to her back,

the young woman stood again,

leaning over the sink—

an Idaho potato in one hand

and a rusty handled peeler in the other.

 

She looked out the window,

pausing to watch the sunset

over the towering pines out back.

A melodic tune lighted on her heart,

and she began to peel again as she sang:

You bound my heart, lover,

And set me free.

Now, I am in you

And you are in me.

O Holy, holy, holy

Are you Lord, my God.

O, lover of my soul.

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