History

Your slightest smile
Brings me to my weakened knees.
You are all the Mayans built,
Stone by stone,
With strong shoulders,
Callused hands.

This lifts me up; your glances,
Your blue eyes,
The color of windblown cornflower,
Cause me to lie in the warm sand, surrender,
Watch as you hover over me,
Shoulders strong from holding me.

Hands callused from touching me.
Everywhere I look, something about you reminds me of
The stories, the poetry, the love,
The faith that came before us.
Our sanctity, strength and surrender
Are our own history, waiting to be recalled.


©Rebecca Pilcher Sissom