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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

Gaelic

charm

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 reyzlgrace.com, and on Twitter/BlueSky @reyzlgrace.

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