Redneck Press with Fried Chicken and Coffee

Sis­ter Hayes, she lifts her eyes up to the Lord so hard they roll back. She sings sacred songs and dances, quick-stepping and jerk­ing as the anoint­ing descends.

It descends like a tree a'falling. It falls like a wall of water. It walls up all fear of dark­ness. It fears no man or serpent.

Sis­ter Hayes, she has the gift of tongues. She speaks them as she dances, hands held high and wav­ing. She shakes so hard she bites her tongue. That, she says, is what hap­pens when the anoint­ing descends.

It descends like tear drops falling. It drops like a cloak of shad­ows. It shad­ows out the light of evil. It lights the dark­est heart.

Sis­ter Hayes, she wears her hair down. The Spirit rocks her hard. She twists and moans, "Oh Dear Lord, Sweet Jesus!" She can feel Him com­ing through her fin­ger­tips. And this how the anoint­ing descends.

It descends like a bolt of light­ning. It bolts the locks of Hell. It locks the box of sins. It boxes the devil's gifts.

Sis­ter Hayes, she takes up a ser­pent. She fears no deadly thing. Her Lord holds her and she can feel Him quick­en­ing. She lifts up the rat­tlesnake, wears it like a crown.

Sis­ter Hayes, she rolls her eyes up, ser­pents slither in her hair.

Sis­ter Hayes, she tilts her head back, breath­less for a holy kiss.

Rosanne Griffeth's work has been pub­lished or accepted by Night Train, Key­hole Mag­a­zine, Smoke­long Quar­terly, Pank, The Angler, Inso­lent Rud­der, Thieves Jar­gon and Six Lit­tle Things among other places. She lives on the verge of the Great Smoky Moun­tains National Park and spends her time writ­ing, milk­ing goats and doc­u­ment­ing Appalachian cul­ture. She is the blog­ger behind The Smokey Moun­tain Break­down.