Grassy Branch Pentecostal Church Electric Oscillating Fan

the anointing falls, a wind that hits, stirs up,
limbers everyone, some sway like dogwoods
some sail down the aisles, crumple in heaps
the church rocks and reels, Sister Mae
testifies, there is crying and hollering
that rises, rises, then recedes, there is hush,
faint sobbing, you hear the still small
voice of the electric oscillating fan,
the buzz that stirs the stale air, do this
it says, abide it says, it cools the back
of your neck a moment, then turns
and you nearly flee this ravished place
you smell wood, the walls trapping heat,
the pine benches, the sap, you smell bodies,
sweat, dark circles, the men damp,
the women damp, a trace of Ivory soap,
bodies that work with coal and slate,
deer meat and grease, bodies that smell
like their work, hand over your nose
you smell them stronger, them a part
of you, they are you now, the still small
hum of the fan again, the stirring,
the cool, while it hums on you, you stay