She pours sweetmilk over me before the sun comes up Her dress is like a tent in the desert Her whippings don't count She buys the young men suits And they cross the river with someone else And check-in at Hotel Nemo She buries her pay in a bucket Every new moon She cuts her snuff with happy dust I trace her butt in the shade Like a Spanish Oak We throw light bread to the fish She mosaics the Lord's mysteries With scales and egg yolks Emma is a humming© Ginny Stanford