Leesie's poem to finish Chapter 32

Celebrate with me everybody! We passed 50k words yesterday, and I didn't even notice. Thanks for loving Michael and Leesie enough to hang in there with me, every day, all this time. 

Here's the rest of Chapter 32. I got emotional typing it up. Those of you who are known to get teary  might want to have a tissue ready. 

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

POEM #??,

The next time

Michael pulls up

in front of Jaz’s hopping shack

and I flurry out to meet him,

I’m shy—

to touch his hand,

to kiss his lips,

to tell him the requested

missionaries, sufficiently stuffed

with fish soaked in buttermilk,

breaded with Jaz’s secret recipe

and fried to perfection by Junior,

wait on the porch.

He’s different—strange to me—

I no longer lead, guide, walk beside.

He’s taken control of his destiny

and mine.

His lips taste familiar

as we linger at the roadside

reconnecting after five days apart.

“Are we going to do this?” His

whisper stirs my hair.

I nod—find his lips again.

“What was that for?”

“In case you never kiss me again.”

My face gets hot. “Remember last time?”

A phantom from his last

missionary encounter rises

menacing between us.

He wafts it away with a wave

of his hand, strong and tan,

that cups my chin.

“That’s not going to happen—

Those guys were right.

I didn’t have ears.”

He takes my hand

and pulls me along the path

to meet the two smiling elders

who know him from church.

Guys his age—humble, excited to teach.

Michael reflects their energy,

listens, nods, accepts, believes.

At the end, he says the prayer

when they ask.

“Dear Heavenly Father”—

his voice is tender and full of love—

“Thank you—thee—for opening

my eyes and giving me

Leesie

to fill my heart.”

I join his “amen,” in the name

of Jesus Christ, and offer my own

silent thank you, in awe of the man

beside me who shakes

the missionaries hands, makes

the next appointment, sees them off,

then reaches for my hand

and brings it to his lips,

kissing, one by one, the nail prints

he left so long ago when he showed

me his wounds and I tried to anoint them

with the only balm I knew.

He pulls me into his arms,

kisses me tenderly,

like I’m a daughter of God.

And my brimming heart knows

he’s ready to be

a son.