#95 – Woman Twenty Three


Her long hair is a ladder, a portal and a twisted muscle.

Creamy matted tresses cease to reflect light and absorb all, like the ferocious spiral of cyclone.

Inside is a nest of baby birds and a pool of turquoise water, a pile of warm blankets, a cave drenched in echoes and a fireworks show.

Curls piled tall on top of her head are an infinite beehive stretching to the stars.  This tangled tower of tresses collapses behind her and follows like the train on a decaying gown or a bird whose own extended tail erases her footsteps.

(This bird is from an elusive Anais Nin writing that I’ve been unable to locate again, for years.

Do you know it? )


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s