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Annie Dee touches one brown toe to the creek.
Cold, oh cold and pure rolls the water over stones.
White-robed, she waits, tallest of all the children
to go down, to go under. Here come the elders
a slammin' and a bangin' those tambourines. "Yes Lord!"
a shoutin' and a harpin'--"Now we shall gather"--
a dancin' and a chantin'--"Where bright angel feet
have trod"--and looking like a host of bronze angels
to Annie Dee who fears the creek will finish her
twelve years when Reverend Moses Jones lifts her to
paradise. "Now, my tall daughter of Israel,
wade with me into the water." Down he lays her
into the cold bed, calling for John the Baptist,
calling for Jesus. She submits to his hands
and sleeps, breathless as stones, for untold time.
"Rise and go forth, Sister Ann," cries Moses Jones.
She opens eyes and mouth to pine trees, clouds and sky
and sees that paradise looks just like home.
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