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January Evening


How many of my mother’s mothers willed

this same wisp of hair free from careful

braids, cold fingers playing col legno

for some watched ship? But you are

a brown-haired girl like me,

just of more stately

sail, and a



to knot

your tresses

to mine fails

my dry, knotted tongue

in landlocked winter air.

You’ve brought your own coat. You don’t

need mine. We leave separately. Cold

fingers tuck a strand of hair behind

my ear and return to the snowy sea.


Reyzl Grace is a poet, essayist, translator, and librarian whose work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and named a finalist for the Jewish Women's Poetry Award. You can find her in the mastheads of Cordella Magazine and Psaltery & Lyre, at, and on Twitter/BlueSky @reyzlgrace.

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