by Sandra Beckmeier

Standing in a stagnant moment
covered in salty Mississippi sweat
man/woman/black/white
defining grace under an unforgiving sun
preacherman locked my gaze
reaching out in symbolic gesture
his dark black skin reflected light
on tiny bones that built his face
swift words delivered in choppy enunciated phrase:
"Now tell me honestly child...have YOU been
SAVED by G-O-D-D-D?
swallowing the only saved part of my being
we could hear the spit clearing my throat and the way for truth:
"No sir, see...I'm still searching...I have faith but I can't say its in Jesus."
seconds of silence before preacherman pulled a giant step backward
throwin' his hands up to the sky
"an unsaved soul in n-e-e-d of healing!"
preacher re-introduced me to white Adam
then a rib brought the beautiful black Eve
Cain and Abel "wis all their hate"
preacherman's wantin' 'ta save my soul
eyelocked, he took me to Babylon
brought me back
he held my mind on a testimonial walk
down a path of patience
for his part of the gravel-covered Mississippi 61
I could see the asphalt blindness of Confederate memoirs past the railroad tracks
but preacherman told me he was found by the beauty found in a bouquet:
"all God's children are all the colors, even in death flowers are beautiful."
at 12 years old preacherman was left alone
his momma died, daddy was just 'gone'
white folks raised him - the white way
sent to fight in Germany, he learned to build things
a trade had just been a dream
later came a vision, and preacherman got saved
he married and transformed a grocery store into a temple for God and the bouquet
preacherman loves me enough to try and save my soul
searches are all the same in black and white
and farewells best remembered in images with words
memories bloom like flowers in a bouquet
and I don't follow preacherman's sweet Jesus
and my search found faith to vast for Jesus to be my salvation
or one name, and one God
but I can't forget preacherman's dust covered salute
from my rearview on 61.