In Lieu of the Expressionist

Lo

We have left the mirrors in that old home

Covered with the checkered cloth--

Mournful are we two, apart from all.

Yet we mourn not with sad spirits, Lord.

I am washing his hair down by the river,

Wandering mind in each drop that slides

Down his neck or falls from his head.

Later, he will wash my feet, tending to

Each tendon and bone with the care

Of a sculptor. At each turn, we embody

Both positions of our connection:

One in fixation, near exaltation.

One in contemplation, almost divination.

This is an inheritance, yes, but we

Make this into a home with the

Peas we stew and the greens we boil

And the pork we grill. He has me on

Height, so in the morning, I will

Let him cross the threshold first,

To bring us all we long for.

Then, we will sweep off the porch

And carry the mirrors outside

So the Devil can't come on in.

I say that there's life in us

When he kisses my hands and

Our garden grows. Look at the

Sustenance God yields for us.

I fear no famine so long as I

Keep my soul conjoined with him.

We make no battle except that

Within our war room--

An act to keep the evil at bay.

In the light of the Sun,

We will go to the woods to wander

In that preeminent church.

I will pick the right roots

And leaves, making careful to

Impart only the highest energies

As I prepare our personal magic.

We have made this homely.

Our waves are pervasive as such:

Warm smells of cornbread dance

With delectable brisket, melting

Like homemade butter pecan

Ice cream. He is my best dish,

A wild deer slow-cooked to

Perfection with asparagus and

Potatoes thrown in for good measure.

In the glow of the full moon,

We will fill our outdoor tub with

Spring water and sprinkle our

Blessings once, twice, and thrice more.

Together, we will bath and seep in

The holiness of Spirit. Lo, happiness.

Lo, contentment. Lo, preservation.

Lo, continuation. Lo, growth.