Salvation

I was raised in wooden pews, the voices of white men
raining down from pulpits, planting poison seeds.
my own voice too deep
even then,
feet dangling above the crimson carpet.

On Sundays we gathered dusty bibles
put on dresses that were never meant to be worn
with a strut like mine, and
long legs that refused to cross.

I walked the straight and narrow, gay and damned
until it choked me.
Bible belt fashioned into a centuries old noose,
their own golden rule long forgotten.

And in this wilderness where I came to hide
I found instead her healing hands, and beautiful,
rebellious knees that too refused to bow
to sow more shame.

Here in the place they warned would lead to death
there is no fear and trembling,
instead she lies with me, naked and unashamed
my salvation in the woods.

By Sarah Vance