The Crushing

I squeezed the orange
mash between my fingers
working out my grief in
mini strokes of the
thumb and forefinger,
retribution fat in
each fist making
a long game out
of power
                        and
                                        submission.
I hate it—
the power.
We were never made
for such stature
as to crush.
Mary,
                        you know
                                        the virgin,
was tasked with crushing
the serpent’s head—
Something to celebrate
but what woman doesn’t
Find this work exhausting?
the drawn out turmoil of
timing
                        and
                                        authority
enmeshed in some sour
soup of righteousness
and impossibility.
I am
but one woman
tasked with the
Crushing, the
Audacity to notice
the slithering evils
and think redemption
could be
                        (is)
                                        Between my toes.
Psalm 46 says God
is my refuge
and my strength,
that the earth
“melts” under His voice.
That’s smooth as butter
if I ever heard, and
butter beats nice with
Brown sugar now
we’re talking
                        possibilities
                                                here,
something that makes
Food when subjected
to heat, something
That makes a table
of love when
                        burned
                                        at the right temperature.

A note from the author:

Regarding “The Crushing,” it was born out of a frustration with all the seemingly impossible tasks and pressures that land on the modern woman’s shoulders, and how we find much of our sustenance in the mundane spaces of our work and faith where we least expect it. All the sacrifices we make become a table of hospitality where others (and even ourselves) can taste God’s love and provision. The pressure and the heat and the timing make the food.
author: Kelsi Folsom
14 of 45
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