Fields of deep burgundy wine colored carpet
crossroads a path through to its matching Pews
where various sized hips are aligned
white and grey hairs shine with auras of
pink and purple tints
glowing from the light filtering through
artful colors stained upon glass Windows
Angelic Organs hold long gospel notes
While the piano plays
Old women lift their ancient branches
As their bodies sway… rock and lean
like deeply rooted trees
flowing
in a sea of white dresses their fanciful hats
fill the front rows
The elders are happy hear
I can feel their excitement
Esteemed with honor
Here they are heard
Here they are seen
Here they are at home in tradition
Here they can praise
Here they can see
Here they moan joy
Here the elder men dance again
in crispy dry cleaned suits
After days of their bodies betrayals
Here they feel strong
After days of neglect and isolation
Here these old mothers are the hug givers
The word warriors
with thin skinned veined hands
Holding tambourines and
black bibles with pages falling off binding
painted with the multi pastel highlights
They are the wisdom diviners
The counselors and cooks
but most of all…
here they are purposed
gracefully gathered among the faithful
here they hold their heads high
with occasional
spontaneous shouts of
“HIGHER… HIGHER”
Here where
They feel their Souls lift
surpassing their frail bodies
Elevated up like rocket ships
In this place where they are gleefully
Singing songs their Grandmothers Grandmothers sang
And as their eyes close
they are sitting and singing right with them
and praying the same prayers
the pews are now tables
for communion with their Ancestors
Yes this ancestral meeting
is a regularly attended ritual
and upon each meeting
These elders are carefully preparing
a place
at the table
for themselves.