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By Deborah Sabo
I. Maidens
We were maidens
and it lay on our shoulders brightly,
streamed over round bare arms
and tickled our hips.
We bent over basins
on washing day
and tossed our heads back freely.
The long wet ropes of hair spiraled out
and arching flashes of droplets hung in the air
for that instant of our girlhood.
We shook it out like pennants
in the sunshine bravely,
letting our freak-flags fly.
II. Mothers
We were mothers
and it covered our shoulders warmly,
draped on our swelling bodies
heavy and rich.
We loosened our braids
on our marriage nights
and arched our necks back sweetly,
spreading the wealth of our hair
like a young queen’s veil,
fingering out the pillow knots
in that morning of our womanhood.
We bent over cradles
and the velvet veils fell softly;
secretive tents for mysterious lullabies.
III. Crones
We are aging
and it shadows our shoulders sparely,
searching the shapes of our skulls
for the wise-women there.
I bind my grey braid
(its weight was once splendor)
and bend over basins, over floors, collecting.
Winding the lost strands tightly
to save the drains.
You offer your vein to infusions,
your breast to the scalpel, bravely.
And bend over basins, collecting—
in your brush
in your comb
on the floor
in your fist
your veil unravels starkly.
Like the loosened threads of a prayer-flag,
let them fly.
© Deborah Sabo, 2007
(with respectful acknowledgment to David Crosby for line 13)
Page last updated: 12/4/2007 14:14
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