A Symphony of Grey Curls — To Leila

In poem on October 17, 2009 at 2:23 am


By Mary Edith Bentley Abu-Saba
January 15, 2007
Monterey, California: Home of Eva and Michel Nicola

Grey black curls bounce and spring
On the top of your 6-foot spire
Catching the wind and the sun
Flouncing their sassy gaity—a spectator sport.

I plunged my hand into the nest
Felt the strength of luxurious satin ribbons wind into my fingers
Sensed your life-giving affirmation:
“Yes I lost every hair in my cancer battle
Now—see here, I have prevailed
And I will survive…and yes, I have a bushel basket of Grey Curls!”

No time for lingering tears of regret
For past angst, nor future uncertainties
Too many present realities of a child’s finger to bandage
A book to be read for tomorrow’s class
A paper to be finished,
Life’s present deadlines to be met.

Laughter and streams of words build into complicated ideas
Thrown out for others to digest
Filling the spaces of Inter-being
No need for contrieved plans for entertainment
Your curls, brain, energy, laughter, tears
Nurture our Present with rich sustenance.

The genes of my body and your father’s have joined and exploded,
Becoming a modern original symphony of your making—
With big ingenious strokes from the Goddess.
You direct that symphony with well-chosen rhythms and harmonies/disharmonies
Resounding wake-up cacophonies and glowing melodies
The soft, thick tanglie curls beckon your life’s musicians to join the chorus
To form the orchestra—each of us plays our part.

So Let It Be.

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