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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “hello goodbye goodbye hello” Down in the Dirt (v132) (the October 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Sunlight in the Sanctuary (the 2015 poetry, flash fiction, prose & artwork anthology)		get this poem collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the Intersection the Down in the Dirt July - Dec. 2015 collection book		get the 318 page July - Dec. 2015 Down in the Dirt issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Blessed Mother

Rosalie Krenger

    Sweat drips like melted wax between her shoulder blades, off the tip of her nose onto her lips, but other than licking the salt away she makes no show that the heat is bothering her. The light slanting in through the barn slats shimmers with the summer dust kicked up as everyone shuffles in. In moments her brothers and sisters surround her on the plank floor at their father’s feet, all listening rapt as he recounts the news he has brought back of the war.
    He tells of the evils of the heathens they fight against, the atrocities and sins they commit without blinking an eye. The world has become a wicked place; a place where no one out there can be trusted, where even friends might be enemies. Nowhere is safe anymore, and the end of the war is not in sight. The only people that can be trusted are family. The only place that’s safe is home. Here. On the farm with Father, who cares for all of his children with the purest kind of love, the first kinds of love, like God loved Adam and Adam loved Eve. Brothers and sisters alike nod knowingly in agreement and she grabs the sweaty palm of her eldest Sister in reassurance. They share a smile and a quick squeeze of fingers as he recites their daily verses. They bow their heads and await the morning prayer.
    But Father says nothing.
    She sneaks a glance at him. He sits still, contemplative. The sun slants just so, bringing out the gold that God hid in his hair. He heaves a sigh and steps down off the stool, one slender bare foot sending up a puff of dust as it gently touches the floor. His children watch with wide eyes as he seats himself on the floor in front of them, as he ignores the way the dirt and his sweat mix to make a muddy stain on his white pants.
    “Children.” He says looking from face to face, and her heart pounds once, hard and painful in her chest. “My children.” He says, closing his beautiful eyes as though he were in pain, and her heart stops. “I’m sorry. I thought I could keep you safe in this world, but I can’t. I can’t keep the heathens from our door any longer. Nonbelievers,” he says, “Each of them a Judas, have infiltrated our everyday life.” She can hear the wound in his voice and a small thrill of fear shoots through her as she notices the absence of newly familiar faces. She releases a loud, shaky breath, drawing his eyes to her. He smiles at her reassuringly, white teeth in a tan face only outshone by his green eyes, and she becomes acutely aware of the sweat-soaked cotton shirt clinging to her budding chest. She casts her eyes down as he goes on.
    “There’s only one way for me to protect you now.” His voice breaks and she finds her hand empty as her Eldest Sister lets go to stifle a sob. Her heart is sore as she looks around and feels the pain that they all feel for this beautiful man.
    He doesn’t need to say anything more. A world that causes such pain in so pure a being, so perfect a man, is obviously no place for them.
    One by one they rock forward onto their knees and crawl to him, putting a hand on his hand, his knee, his face, offering support through their touch. She feels the understanding and love flow from her siblings to him, and feels him give it back to all of them like a conductor. He offers another smile in thanks and stands, shedding touches like water. He walks out into the daylight and they all resume their places and wait for him to return.
    When he comes back he doesn’t say anything. He goes to her youngest brother first and kneels. He pours a small glass and offers it to the boy. Father wraps the boy in his arms as he drinks and after the glass is empty father kisses him on the head. He moves next to her youngest sister and she watches the scene repeat.
    Tears stream down faces, but still no one says anything. Heads swoon but still no one says anything. Hearts break, but still...
    Her eldest Sister takes her hand again and she looks down at the longer fingers tangled in her own. Before long her father is in front of them. Her eldest Sister’s smile is tired as she takes the cup and drinks first. Those tired lips kiss her hand, those longer fingers slip away, as her eldest Sister lays down.
    Father offers her the cup, finally, and she takes it, finally, but does not drink. She looks into the cup and remembers drinking from it when she was smaller. Father tilts her chin up toward his own.
    “My child.” He says. “My daughter.” Tears run down her cheeks as he envelopes her in his arms and his scent and his love. “Shhh my child.” He rocks her as she cries and kisses her gently until she stops. She cradles the cup in her lap and he hums the song her eldest Sister used to hum to her in the Before - before they were sisters, when they lived in a city, and the girl laying on the floor next to her was just Mama.
    “There is no reason to be scared child,” he soothes as a strange wail sounds in the distance. Father looks toward the door with eyes the color of the meadow outside, and takes the cup gently from her hands. “I’ll show you sweetling.” He takes a deep breath and a small sip.
    “You see?” He asks quietly. “We’re going together, all of us. We’ll be a family forever.” He smiles and she returns it weakly. He hands her the cup as the wailing grows louder. Her stomach hurts as Father lays down next to her.
    She puts the cup to her lips, but doesn’t drink. She watches the dust dance in the light, inhales the smell of fresh milk and the wheat ripe for harvest. She tastes the dirt in the air and tomato she stole from the garden. She feels the sweat on her forehead and the soft dirt on hard wood under her feet. She hears the birds in the rafters and the breeze that teases the hair off of her neck.
    She closes her eyes and cradles the cup again.
    All of her siblings lay around her and the wailing grows louder. She presses her hand to her abdomen and tries to feel the life there, the Son. She tries to feel the salvation growing inside her and can only wonder if her new brother would have her Father’s eyes. She looks down at him, but those eyes are closed now. She touches Father’s face one last time and puts the cup to her lips once more.
    She sits like that, wondering if she could ever even hope to give the true Son the life He deserves, the love and laughter and praise and hope He deserves, without Father here. And if a life without Father is worth living at all. She imagines the horrors beyond the gate that Father has described and her hand trembles, the cup clicks across her teeth.
    The sirens grow louder still, as Father sleeps next to her, and she tries to will the savior inside her to save her.

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