Women's Work


There's a stray of hair whipped free by the wind
plays inattentive across your cheek
as your hands dance supple against the calico & hemp
arranging with operative precision
like the sun gleam against your alabaster cheek
golden in your eyes shining

With deliberate passion your hands
clip the multi coloured cloth waving
like a message from a waning ship
as if you could just reach out & pluck
it from the waves like child's play

You reach back tying the strands
back wrapping the errant pieces into a
careful knot tight each belonging in its place
like ships sailing flagging their unanswered calls

wanting & just out of reach



 



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