Song of Solomon
Song of Solomon
When Colby was seven years old, her mama told her
That certain things were just not acceptable for
Her little girl self to do. She was told that she
Couldn’t climb trees, lest she scrape her knees
Or even entertain the idea of wearing shorts.
She wore her dresses with pride, the sweet
Little bow adorning her waist perfectly
Fitting for the innocence of her youth, touching
And yet, untouched by society.
False tales of broken truths.
Colby loved when her mama would
Brush her long hair, in long, even strokes
Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six,
And then braid it into two perfectly
Symmetrical French braids from root to tip.
She loved it, because in the morning, when
Her mama took her hair out of the braids,
Colby felt like an Amazonian princess,
Hair wild and fierce, lying over her shoulders,
Over her cheeks with passionate rebellion.
But her mama was quick to restrain her,
Grabbing at her young shoulders
As Zeus grabbed Atlas, condemning
Her to burden the weight of what
She wasn’t quite ready for, quoting the
Scripture to her daughter with the
Hope that she would learn the lesson
She was trying to drill into her.
“To the Lord our God belong mercies and
forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against him”
So Colby would sit, head bowed,
Hands in her lap with regret in her eyes,
Thinking of the words of Daniel.
Her untamed tresses were pulled and
Pressed and tied down at the nape of her
Neck, so that when she prayed, the ivory
Flesh would be obscured by her tamed
Brunette locks, coupled with a large pink bow,
To match her pristine pink dress.
Through the years, Colby now sweet,
Sweet sixteen, still there was
Always order. Colby sat between her
Mama and her Papa, observing the Gospel
In silent recognition.
While at prayer, Colby’s mama told her
To keep her head down, observe the Lord,
And listen to His word. She never
Strayed, never disobeyed her mama,
Until one day, her mama sat next to her papa,
And while some would assume that this
Minor detail would go unnoticed, it did not.
Not to unassuming little Colby.
For the first time, she looked around,
eyes dancing from pew to pew instead of
Bowing her head to His prayer.
She saw then, a face. A boy, her age, maybe
Older, staring at her as she was staring
At him. Except his gaze wasn’t untrained,
It was what Colby’s mama called rebellion.
Rebellion looked at her, smiled with
One side of his mouth, and looked down.
As she should have been. And so she
Looked down at her lap, repentant,
And mouthed silently the scriptures of
First Corinthians to herself.
“Neither let us tempt Christ, as some of them
Also tempted, and were destroyed of serpents.”
Years of the same routine, no trees,
No shorts, just pretty silken dresses,
Long curls pulled back into tight bows
And prayer, unassuming Colby blindly
Follows her mama’s wishes.
It is during prayer that unassuming Colby
Sees a face. This of rebellion, and reminds
Her vaguely of when she would
Run as that Amazonian princess in the
Living room of her home.
Now the difference is that she being
Older, perhaps just in number, but no
Wiser, she defiantly stares, looking
At the crooked smile coming from what
Her mama called rebellion.
He looks at her, same look she recalls,
But instead of holding his gaze,
She looks down, head bowed, her hair
Pulled back tight with a plain black
Elastic band; her want for the
Innocent frivolities gone with her youth.
After the service, Colby sits and stares
Down at her empty pew, her thoughts
A jumbled mess of questions and verses.
She tries to sort them, figure out what they
Mean, the face of rebellion flashing behind
Her closed eye lids.
“Commit to the Lord whatever you do,
And your plans will succeed.”
Her broken thoughts are fond memories
From Proverbs to her mama. Her mama
Taught her through Daniel.
that anything could be forgiven
In the eyes of the Lord. That He held the
Ability to forgive, despite rebellion.
That next Sunday, Colby took a chance.
She left down her hair, wild and fierce
Like her seven-year-old Amazonian counterpart,
And walked to her normal pew, to sit in
Her normal space. She sat alone, head bowed,
Her untamed hair lying over her shoulders,
Over her cheeks with passionate rebellion.
Half way through, she chanced a glance,
Looked up and saw him, the same one-sided
Smile adorning his face; the face of rebellion.
This time, she took a chance on him.
Perhaps in love, because life isn’t like
What her mama told her. Life, and love,
Is like the Song of Solomon.
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
for your love is more delightful than wine.”
.
