The Christian Woman sits alone, sewing a small garment.
Christian Woman:
Bow your head and sew a prayer.
May my boy never grow old,
lose his innocence,
wear hate’s ugly face.
Keep him young, oh Lord,
press, draw, smooth,
a song? he smiles,
a curse? he smiles,
a man weeping,
he dabs his tears and smiles.
She hears the Boy’s voice from offstage.
Here he is,
home with a smile,
perhaps some bread.
Come in my child!
Press, draw, smooth,
I have a gift for you.
Is this a game?
Come inside,
the streets are cold
and still as a tomb.
Press, draw, smooth,
let me warm your bones.
The Boy does not enter.
You know I love to hear you sing.
Shall I follow you?