after “Witness” by Denise Levertov
by Andrea Penner
She watches from her kitchen window
whenever the mesas hide themselves
behind a gray summer mantle,
its hem caught on the desert
floor. As the light returns, she turns away,
stirs a pot of fragrant stew—maybe mutton,
maybe beef, some salt—relieved
to hide inside herself, for now.
God knows she believes the gospel,
the choice to serve, bear witness,
but sometimes when the baby sleeps,
when her husband preaches in the stone church,
she feels watched by the holy ones—
the sacred many who live in clouds,
in mountains. The ones who ask her
why she came.
