she steps to the stage
disguised as an old woman
white hair, dangly bracelets jangling
scarves artfully arranged and flowing
academic pedigree preceeding
yet with sleeves rolled up
feet dancing back and forth
jokes and anecdotes softening up the crowd
bobbing and weaving, hands moving
history and theology keeping a rhythm
encyclopedic insights to stick and move
lulling them with laughter
but then, in time
the feet plant
the payload delivered
then the pause
the low groans of those gathered
a tacit confession and celebration
that she has connected
the Spirit, she packs a punch
Posted in: Phyllis Tickle
That’s definitely you. Love the poem…..love you even more.