but not without the poem
the laughter, surround sound
as two people I love
look each other in the eye
for the first time, see each other
recognize who they see
smile in the introduction
{but I know you, they telegraph)
my insides warm
from the sun of smiles
the way they tell a lifetime
of stories with every look
the way they embrace
each other sitting across
the table from one another
the way they keep rhythm
in holiness church harmony
the stutter step clap
the cocked head
quickening
hand wave head shake
foot stomp way
they look at each other
and agree they are
free from holy ghost histories
and bound to them
with the telling
of these stories
and stories keep
pouring out of them
like oil from alabaster boxes
like wine at communion tables
like sweet tea at hot
July camp meetings
where deacons sway
to fanning mothers' boards
and choirs ring out
sweet hour of prayer
my sweet Jesus memories
of days that do not match
Sunday School versions
of life and my friends
look at each other
recognizing they got time
and plenty more
stories
Valerie Bridgeman
© January 30, 2013
[For January 29, 2013]
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