For them it is the reassurance of knowing things as they are
For us it the restoration, an absolution
Those flocks of petticoats trailing after cannon
Priestesses disguised as laundresses
And we do offer up our filthy garments
Heedlessly stripped off, rumpled, thrust aside
Dumped in barrels of river water
They unfurl, water seeking out its wounds
Blood snakes away in ghost smoke
Until the women begin their endless work
A fury of scrubbing with brimstone--
Piss and lye of ash--
Tendrils of hair whipped free
Mutter of prayer or incantation
Boiling baptism of water and fire
Bubbling like excitement
Trembling like terror
Jumble of pathos fighting with itself on the brink
Then an exorcism, a cathartic flogging
Forcing a weeping of anger, of fear, of shame
Swallowed back by pride
Now expelled with violent chastisement
Spent at last they lie them
Out like soulless shells on hushing grass
We open the packages tied with string
An immaculate shirt to incarnate as before
Smelling of sun and boyhood
A traveling to the time before.
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