Painting- “Portrait of Roman Johnson” by Emerson Burkhart
He awoke in his seat trying to find himself in that fog that guards the gate between here and the landscape of dreams. As his sight gained its proper clarity, and his limbs began to remind him of the folly of where he had chosen to lay his head - his gaze landed upon the sinewy, coal colored figure in his bed. She lay there yet to be kissed by consciousness, serene in her slumber, undoubtedly exhausted from the previous day, months years, toiling under the pre conceived notions that her labour, agency, and body belonged to someone else. He watched as the sun unseated itself from its throne in the sky to pay homage to its favorite daughter, caressing her ever so slightly on her forehead to the tufts of her black hair through the breaks in the window pane. And while the morning sang its ode to her, he thought on how many men had told him he was a friend too long. Of how he too often bent when he should’ve straightened her.. right out. And of how he was too patient. They told tales of other women, and the joys of their company, of the glory of manhood, and the feeble and fickle nature of femininity. They chided him “One woman?!” they said, - always followed by faces so twisted in disbelief and indignation they began to resemble frequently used brown paper bags - “Forever?! He let the memory tug on the muscles in his cheek, forming a wry smile, sat forward in his chair, taking in her wholeness. He pondered the lines in her face, the blackness of her skin, the way she struck down foolishness with a glare in the fashion of St George and his dragon. The way she glowed when alone, her light all that much brighter when she was left to her own devices, the way she cared and lived for herself, and how it made him realized he’d never truly done the same. How after thinking on it a bit, he’d lived for mostly other men - his father, his brothers, his friends, his pastor, - but himself…rarely…maybe..never. He pondered all this and thought “Eternity?... that's no time at all. Would you wait on nothing in this world? …Would you eliminate all the magnificence of time's laborious graces? The slow, soft, wear of patience like water on rock and mountain to form great majesty. The transition of the ash of grief to the soil of joy?… I would.. I would wait. Wait for the welcome nurturing of eternal hands as they hold me up when I'm not yet strong enough to stand.. I would Wait. Wait til those sweet hands gently wipe the smudge from the face of our friendship, gaze upon it with the infinite, and bless it with a kiss, I would ..wait. Allow forever to open its lips and breathe care into our relationship until it cooled the burning broth of our desire, allowing us to savor the ingredients of our love... I would wait. Wait for the omnipresent craftsman to fashion the proper frame with which to view the picture of my, your, our work.. I would wait, wait because eternity is no time at all. He thought this, and refrained in his heart “No time at all”.
