Lilies of the Field

By Marti Bullock

“And yet I say unto you that even

Solomon in all his glory was not

arrayed like one of these” (Matt. 6:29).

I pull on the cool, satiny air,

flexing my fingers into each sheath

and wrap around my waist

the rustling folds of a soft breeze.

I tie aroma like a scarf about my neck

and stroke its silken fringe,

pin up the loose strands of my hair

with silver darkness,

fasten a cloak of cricket song over my shoulders,

and thread dewy blades of grass around each ankle.

Then I descend a cloudy staircase,

turn the doorknob of the moon,

and step out into the night in this,

my favorite evening gown.