overlooking the river, you
are brushing my hair, brushing
and brushing my long wet hair,
your brushing a caress,
your own private prayer
and then the tangle, the tug — “I’m
sorry,” you say, and I tell you
“Start at the bottom, brush
from the bottom up,” you have never
been taught to do this
you with your long thick hair
long since childhood, your mother
who picked up a bottle instead of a brush
tangling her memories in her daughter’s
hair, I pick up the brush
show you now on your own tangled hair,
a diversion so you cannot
see my face — messages never sent
from mother to daughter, I send them
now, send the most tender
memories I have of my own childhood,
evening of hair brushed softly,
rolled into socks before bedtime, creating
curls like the ones I brush now,
slowly, methodically, I brush these memories
into your own hair, I brush
my own prayer into
your long dark hair,
brushing love,
brushing safe, brushing home.
~Margo Solod
Some Very Soft Days
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