'fore I Came to the Fence

‘fore I came to the fence,
I stood o’er there
under the tree
on the lip of a skirt o’ shade.

My head bowed a deep stretch,
a deep ache in my neck.
My cheeks press’d into my palms,
red from washin’.
‘fore I came to the fence.

Under heavy thoughts,
I did not hear him comin’.
I did not hear the soft crush
of his worn work boots.
Flattenin’ falls on sprigs of green
pushin’, risin’ up thru scatter’d straw,
a seed plucked Earth.

His hold of my arm, of my waist
announced his arrival.
Rumpled cotton hot between us,
front to back; back to front.
He pressed on.
He danced me from behind.
He danced me from within,
‘fore I came to the fence.

I look’d up –
dappl’d sunlight thru summer boughs.
I look’d down –
blacken’d creases, witness to every step taken.
I look’d down –
my own brown Mary Janes, scuffless, kick’d-up dirt clouds.

The wind turn’d the leaves,
turn’d the straw,
turn’d the clothes on the line;
spun us our own private waltz in the Sun.

He fisted the shoulders of my house dress.
He drug me,
my braids swung, heavy,
kept time with each ploddin’ step.
He labor’d with me –
all the way to the fence.

This fence was whitewashed once.
It flakes and blisters now.
The wind’s fallen to a whisper.
I feel every crack and splinter.

I can see my tree.
I can see my basket tipped.
Clothespins whirl with the memory of wind.
Little wooden people that dance
in wither’d sprigs once green.
I can see me there.
I can see me hangin’ laundry,
'fore I came to the fence.