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Festina Lente
(honoring Mary Eileen Dobson)

Sarah's God is like a mule working slow plow
Through dirt, while she holds tight to the old,
Cracked, oak handle. She has seen many mules till.
She's heard relatives' tales of their plowing cotton

Or corn. Sarah supposes the soil is her life --
Blemish and blight without water
Or fire or air. She and God inch along,
Stop to wipe sweat. They harrow field-ground

Left. Festina lente: to make haste
Slowly, with no motor or rush. Speedless,
She and the dumb, neutered animal keep
To their furrow. We can imagine them

Held, harnessed, and freed.

- The Texas Review / Blue, Candled in January Sun

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