The women of Amish,

looked at the English boy

in their midst, circling around him

and with a faint smile

on the eldest of them,

the matriarch of the small travelling

party deferring with her eyes

to the man in the black

iron pressed cloak and stiff-rimmed hat

and softly thanked the boy

for taking time to talk to them

despite their initial

worries, their concerns

of being caught

on camera, their souls in peril

at the thought of modern technology

eating them, devouring from the inside out,

crunching their bones, spitting out

of innocent flesh. Her warmth in slight

smile, in tight pursed frown was magnified

by the rimmed hat man, the only man

in this party stood waiting

for the Greyhound bus to Pittsburgh

and he warned the boy, not much older

than he was when he first looked up

at the face

of the stone French lady with demanding skirts, captivated,

in love, but now just a little more wise

after finding the trail and trial

just as demanding,

he warned the boy, remember your oath,

that picture must not be published

in your life time, it is an oath

that will haunt you if you break it

and like Spencer Tracey as he strode

through testaments in Inherit The Wind

the boy knew, he understood the implications;

he only hoped that the picture he took,

stolen hearts all as he thanked them one by one,

would at least have come out and done justice

to the Amish women he met and their clothes

made in freedom.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016