(Inspired by The House That Vanished, by Rosario Ferre)
Fly away home, to Zion! Fly away, home!
On that morning, when my work is over,
I will fly away home!
…The old man at the crossroads, call me from out the gully. Him voice did loud, loud in me head. Him almost sound like a woman and a man singing together—a powerful, welcoming harmony meant for my ears only. Them voice did beat like a drum—like the way church hymns used to stay with me, long, long after the service finish.
The singing reminded of t’under and lightnin’ and rain, together. Yet, it did still quiet—almost like prayin’. Like when Miss Sheila and the other people down at the Revival Church would pray: “Father, we the People of Zion come to you in faith and humbleness. We beseech the Holy Court, singing songs of joyful praise!”
It kinda hard to explain, really! But, me know say me did have to go with him…and, just like that, we were in the cotton tree!