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A barber's hand
by A. Paige White Hold the hand up and breathe the fragrance
washed in the night
the oils of his head
thoughts given life by spirit winds
are cherished, a treasury
I have bent to inhale his unique
since he was a babe in my arms
nursing at the breast
next to my heart
His surrendering request
for a trim
my delight
There is no sweeter fragrance
on earth than the oils of his skin
diffusing into that wild mop of his
thick his love, thin his years but growing
quantum his spiritual giftings
divisions beyond cellular
I know intensely the truth of the thought
that a mother's heart forever runs around,
all about, outside her body
in the lives of her children
as they experience for themselves all
that life is, all it can be, all it shall be
as I hold my hand up and breathe the lingering fragrance
washed in the night
the oils of his head
03/01/2008 Author's Note: Nanny's barber shop gossip
Posted on 03/01/2008
Copyright © 2024 A. Paige White
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/29/09 at 03:44 PM What a treat for the senses and the heart. When my father died I used his electric shaver for a while. I could smell the oils of his skin on it. It sort of turned me off, I am ashamed to say, but with your poem, I am remembering that experience in a whole new way. You also give me yet another way to appreciate the experience of being a mother. That humanizes me - gets me beyond whatever unconscious regrets I might have about not having children. Thanks, Beautiful. |
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