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| martha promise receives leadbelly, 1935 Tyehimba Jess |
when your man comes home from prison, when he comes back like the wound and you are the stitch, when he comes back with pennies in his pocket and prayer fresh on his lips, you got to wash him down first. you got to have the wildweed and treebark boiled and calmed, waiting for his skin like a shining baptism back into what he was before gun barrels and bars chewed their claim in his hide and spit him stumbling backwards into screaming sunlight. you got to scrub loose the jailtime fingersmears from ashy skin, lather down the cuffmarks from ankle and wrist, rinse solitary's stench loose from his hair, scrape curse and confession from the welted and the smooth, the hard and the soft, the furrowed and the lax. you got to hold tight that shadrach's face between your palms, take crease and lid and lip and brow and rinse slow with river water, and when he opens his eyes you tell him calm and sure how a woman birthed him back whole again. |
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