Poetry Issue 15

   Issue #17 : July-December 2012

Aditi Machado





      VIII

      MY MOTHER HAD THE THICKEST HAIR

      Cut it, she said, when mine grew long.

      Let’s make a shirt of it. But I tied it in a knot, refusing.

      Let’s make a shirt of it and put it on a horse. But we have no horse. I
      tied one more knot, fixing my hair to me.

      I thought of a hair shirt on a horse, a girl riding away on it. The slight
      irony and sadness.

      My mother once had the thickest hair, but she cut it all off. It smelt
      of a fragrant oil she wore.

      My mother is all gone now and she was so beautiful.

       

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