Ode to my Hair
I have let it grow long
and the curls decided for themselves
I leave bits of it behind me
like luck for the objects it clings to
my office chair
your watch or whiskers
strength for them
like the strength it gives me
but not like Samson
though it's true I don't cut it
or brush it
or comb it
when wet it reaches the small of my back
yet it goes farther
reaches to Montserrat
where my grandmother caresses it
where it is celebrated by priests at noon mass
the curls are untamed snakes
that dance about my face
hang loose and soft
dangle down upon my skin
remind me to touch things with respect
shocks of grey
lightning through desert dusk
silver lining of my darkest cloud
dust that has fallen from a halo
it carries all my hours
it is stuffed fuller than a woman's purse
with all my actions
that are translated into its scents & textures
they fall over me without warning
and I return to them again & again
to nourish me
like a meal served with wine & bread
and when I embrace her
she stuffs her fists with it
holds it like a prayer
it is briar & tangle
and all things truthful & beautiful
©2000 Lizzie Wann. All rights reserved