Her hair was too long for her age,
thick and heavy, a platinum wave.
She was all hair.
Two weeks ago she came to work with a cut
above her ears,
like a salon model.
Last week in a team meeting she joked
how she could pull it out in swatches.
Look . . . it doesn’t hurt.
We made her stop.
She wore a black hat on Wednesday
with a floppy brim and a red rose in the center.
Yesterday it was a saucy denim one
with a papery orange poppy.
We traded lipsticks in the lounge,
adjusted hats . . . not a wisp of blonde.
She has a season pass for the theater,
tickets to the Dixie Chicks,
family leave for the next round,
a calendar full of events.
8 comments:
Hi Yvonne,
Stunning piece, in a way it's what's left unsaid that grabbed me and left a lump in my throat bringing back some memories very vividly of family troubles past. You have a rare gift, thank you for sharing.
Regards,
John
"we made her stop"
A wonderful piece. So much between the lines. I can follow the threads far beyond the words, having been this road before. And thinking back, I wonder what I stopped that they needed. Needed to do, show, say, but it made me ache, so I made them stop.
This is beautiful, Yvonne. Simply beautiful.
John,
Thank you so much, for reading and sharing your thoughts.
W,
Interesting, what you've pointed out, that we stop others from saying, doing, showing that which would help them because we don't want to hear it, see it.... Thanks.
TK,
Hi. Thank you very much.
This is so moving...
Liza,
Thanks. I'm glad you thought so.
This is a gorgeous poem...your craft at telling stories is so inspiring. You were meant to write :) Love it.
Sarah
Sarah,
Wow. Thanks. Just....thanks.
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