Braids
My mother braids my niece’s hair.
Her fingers part and pull thin blonde
strands into order the same way
she pulled my sister’s into neat plaits.
I’m am staring back thirty years.
Time seems to lurch. I feel dizzy.
3 thoughts on "Braids"
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Sweet and poignant.
I love the way “part and pull thin strands” reflects the steady rhythm of braiding hair. Lovely poem!
Your juxtaposition of neat braids and your dizziness is very effective.