VELVETS IN THE FIELD
As Ruth
Virtuous, with the strength of an olive branch inside
Her skin the color of ripened figs ready to burst
Her heart is always full
A flower turned into fruit
Petals and calyx fall away
Her sweat trickles like Greek nektar
Working in the sun just makes you a little sweeter
Patience
As a dove perched on a twig in Solomon’s vineyard she took her rest
With the faith of a mustard seed
Hidden and swallowed within her eyes of chestnut
She looked up to the second heavens
Resilient enough, strong enough
To dine on bees and wild honey as Sampson
But as broken egg shells, her spirit fragile
Our bones are made of calcium carbonate
They can be broken
Easily shaken by a rock thrown into still waters
A rose of Sharon budding
We keep on moving as if our hurt were never there
Has been forgotten
But on the inside you can rest assured it has left its mark
Her fingers brush past a field of morning glories
A calm passing she is up now
Her hair as wool from the blackest sheep
Delicate, but standing firm as she encounters a calm hello from the wind
She shall not be moved
Settling into a quiet place
An entry way marked with the blood of a lamb
The death angel will pass over
A place of restoration
The doorstep a slab of stone
Gentle blushing flowers with slender green stems
In a glass /vɑːz/ annunciated
Centered on a round table of spinel
Fragrant and dripping of saccharine
Coming forth from the waters of purity cleansed now
Watered from the natural springs of Andros
Atoms of oxygen and hydrogen grace your body
Cocoa butter a second skin
We pass down traditions of cleanliness
What they call self-care today
It is we who showed you the way
We are like swans birthed
Never entered into the stage of an ugly duckling
We were made perfect
Rachel’s womb was blessed
The seeds of life saved from the Garden of Eden
Lives deep within our wombs encased
Sour cherries become sweet when touched by your hands
Mall berries pressed and aged into wine
Divinely placed in jars of glass and old ice cream containers
If I only see your eyes, that is enough
Your lips are the likeness of garnet
In your house, pillars of amethyst
Dancing across floors of Chalcedony
Your legs long like a bird of secretary
Face touched with the brushes and minerals of Clinique
Diamonds are not the only precious stones
Our smile breaks through a canopy of green
This willow will not weep
A veil of tourmaline adorns your shoulders
Your chest is dressed white
Like an African pygmy falcon, your shape shifts
We have no master, but a loving father
A river flowing with milk and honey
He provides always
You will call me by my name
Address me correctly
Approach me humbly
Enter my courts
I dub thee sir woke