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.