Come out to play,
Chastity Goodheart,
you have been scrubbing that floor
too cheerfully
for too long,
polishing that holy place
free of adornment.
Your skirt is homespun
and we all respect you,
the hardworking puritan
who knows the Lord in her soul,
who hums quietly
with worship joy
propelling all that work.
This is not a call of judgement;
hear in our voices
the free invitation
to be who you are,
just more fully…
there are warm breezes
that will touch your legs
if you spin with us,
and sweet apples
from the outstretched trees.