Far from the withering gaze of the preacher
The women gather at the riverbank.
Musician, hunter, poet, mother,
Like pearls freed from their shells
They gather lilies and herbs for the midwife.
Madeline floats with her socks on
To rise like a myth on loosened wings
In the dress with a musical bar
Imprinted around the hem.
Shells empty of their pearls,
Like the houses of their ancestors,
Float by in the reel of the river.
Far from the withering gaze of the preacher
Her companions bare their breasts
to the sun,
And Madeline takes off her dress.
