Patience drove the mule,
breaking furrows to sow
their lovers dreams in stony ground.
Her brick dust hands molded to the
curves of wheel and plow,
molded to the sweep of Sarah’s waist.
Sarah saw the world through
dye stained eyes, painted her vision
with a brick dust brush.
 
Born to walk awhile under a different sky,
these women crossed the earth like water.
Bound in the intimacy of winter light,
the lightsome softness of summer shade;
where dark sparks of mystery revealed themselves
in the full flush of passion.
A rare benediction before the tumult of sisterhood.
 
 
 
*Mary Ann Wilson