Saturday, December 07, 2013

today's poem and painting

Closing Mother Down

I’m trimming my sister’s hair
when Mother makes for the scissors.
I’m the one… she protests. Her words
sputter to a halt as I close the blades.

She’s dwarfed in the kitchen
she once ruled and I picture her as she was
bending low over the children’s curls
her movements precise and quick.

I am the edge cutting her from her past
and I know the quirks of scissors:
arms easily parted, but better together
though crossed as swords.

--poem first published in Public Republic, painting in Red Fez

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