Lake Bed Refractions
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After Frido Kahlo’s Roots
Others think my hair
wild, untamed,
needing a coif
when all about me the wind
rustles
through the fallen leaves…
red on gold,
stamped brown,
ethereal...
substance once there,
gone
like soup
cooked for hours
to fight the chill,
tang of parsnip…
that’s the visible crop,
bushy froth
while beneath soil,
fight
the war
for a strand or lock or two
of my being...
heart untied from children
hands freed
to tap or zizzle a bow
across strings
what a jumble it all is
after the clean
prepped
pampered
soul is emptied
scraped down to metal
my hair
unwound into myself
swelling
as if a clogged pore
and I’m wondering...
is there is any
who know
how I look
undressed.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
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