Apr/May 1999 Poetry |
The Cloakroom
Did you have any idea
when you let loose
your hair
your back
to the room
letting it fall like water
down the length of your spine
with a flick of
your head
casually reaching
into your purse then
one hand straightening
one hand brushing
deliberately stroking
its gold
from roots to ends
that so many paired
hands putting coats back
on would freeze
and then
straighten crooked ties?
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