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the dew was still on the apple blossoms, the
man gave the woman all the credit. “She
gave me fruit. I ate.” But as limelight
illuminates Olympic garlands “There’s the guy
responsible for it all!” Her husband. Take a rib
from a Bear’s side; “Wife Wins Medal!” Suture
buttons on free-flowing fabrics to dress up
mannequins on mega-fashion magazine covers;
thirteen cents an hour in undisclosed
back rooms. No one will ever know. Sew up a
presidential nomination; plunge a whetted needle
through “abrasion resistant” waxed canvas ceiling. The
morning headlines? “Clinton claims nomination” stitched
on the front page of the Tribune, history pocketed
in a photo of him, not her. Her clothes asked for it after all,
buried on page twelve bottom left
next to an ad for half price laundry detergent.
Jill Crainshaw is a professor at Wake Forest University School of Divinity and a Presbyterian minister. Her work has appeared in Star 82 Review, Mused: Bella Online Literary Review, and Panoplyzine. She is a frequent contributor to the Unfundamentalist Christians blog.
