Maybe She was Only Waiting for Me to Look

Mom in Braids

Her braids take me by surprise.
Is this really my mother
standing in the lake
with her pants rolled
above the surface?
Who was this woman
who chronicled life with
her camera, her pen,
her scissors, and those
newspaper clippings?
I’ve seen that
smiling face framed
by those ebony plaits
sitting on my sister’s shoulders
more times than I can count.
That need to fix the past, though,
in words, images, glue, and paper
does not reside in my sister’s soul.
It lodges in my breast
and ties me to a past
that stuns with connections
I had no idea existed.

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4 thoughts on “Maybe She was Only Waiting for Me to Look

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