Member Poem

Say that the girl-child came bursting forth

from richest dirt on a latesummer Monday,

bright as early ripened corn, as sweet,

as golden. Imagine her plump new skin,

glistening, see her limbs eager to follow,

her eyes wide and full with obedience,

her very blood flowing with obedience

to unspoken ancient mandates rushing forth

like rivers through smooth rock, following

long-established routes.  Tell about the day

they held her up and drenched her skin

in holy waters: she became fresh and sweet.

Say this, and the story will end up sweet

as honey ought to be. Celebrate the obedient

way the child pressed her tender footskin

into country gravel and set herself forth

on the appointed path, each and every day

choosing that well-trod road to follow.

Know that each dark night she only followed

the fragmentary paths of stars in her sweet

and sensible dreams. She waited patiently for day.

Say she was content in her small obediences

to the turning way of things, how the fourth

season returned always to the first and her skin

would in the end return to earth, the kin

of deer and birds, the same cycle to follow.

She grew and saw how her veins spread forth

like the veins in leaves unfurling to sweeten

the spring air—say she felt beauty in her obedient

body’s mimicry of the earth’s progression of days.

Assume the girl-child learned one Saturday 

afternoon about the blessing that is her skin

kept pure. Sing high the praises of her obedience

to the order her forbears all have followed.

Believe she knows that home is plenty sweet

enough for her. She needs only what’s set forth.

Say this is how the girl-child’s days went forth.

Tell of her skin’s sweet beginnings and trust 

that the story’s plot will follow with obedience.