Carolyn Gregory
Two Poems
Hair Work
That day, shears snipped and mended
hair around the shoulders
to lend new purpose.They spoke of things that last
in a bad economy –
good recipes and friends sailing
through screened doors in storms.Thin scissors trimmed bangs
along the brows,
bringing shape from chaos
and a summer of ocean salt.They spoke about affairs,
the cost of poor living overall.
When money’s scarce,
the horizon shrinks.Combing out full,
the hair took oils and color well,
plumping up inside the bonnet.
A mirror showed every angle.Their friendship outlasted funerals,
Dream of Bones and Pearls
cancer and work shoes with broken laces,
from winter’s highlighting
to July’s protein wash
and trimming of split ends.
Here he was relaxed
with no sawed hip bones
to distract him
from the blue vista.We all sat near tapestries
in the cabin
and drank great coffee.I could be eccentric,
not worry about the part
in my hair or ironing.Instead, I spent my time
examining vintage jewelry –
shell barrettes, pearl
and marcasite pins.In this world,
we were all equals –
surgeons and editors.
