Her Well Remembered Hair Poem by Michael Shutt

03/10/2014

Well Remembered Hair:

'To what
can I
compare your Hair?

The perfect metaphor eludes.

A breath of air?
A sultry stare?
A Bagatelle?
A Summer Day?

To what
can I
compare your Hair?

Its shining,
vibrant, attitude?

Unalterable compass
to my heart-

No matter what
the Latitude.

A day in June,
would make me swoon-

Or kissing,

under Harvest Moon.

Black tresses fall,
upon my chest,
while nuzzling deep
in Winter's Breast.

To what can I
compare your Hair?

While I am here?

And You are there?

While,

lonely-

both,
Love,

We go separately
through days?

Cold,
uncaring miles:

Indifferent Calendar,

You have no power
O'er Us-

You cannot ununite
United Hearts-

Cold Calendar.

You cannot fathom-

Break-

The secret smiles
we share-

Her Goodness,

Kindness,

Grace.

All that I see and feel,

While feeling her
soft hand in mine;

while running fingers through
the Glory of Her Hair.

And so,

Past seconds,
minutes,
hours,
and days-

Past all this life's cruel
melancholy bonds-

Her lovely,
Hair-

Pain streaked,
it's true-

It Sings
to me.

With selflessness-

With sacrifice-

With fortitude.

I don't delude
myself at all,

I know
Her Soul-

I see
the toll

that daily,
Sacrifice of Self
has made.

So I can say
with certitude-

Through strength
of Sure and
Certain Love:

I do reject.

I do dismiss:

Distance.

And lying Time's
vile lassitude.

At long last, Love,
It's simply this-

Midst Summer,

Spring,

Fall,

Winter's Kiss...

The bliss of finding
one lone strand,

When I,

when low,

As oft I am-

The gift of just
a single strand-

Blasts all
Comparisons.

And in that
Single Strand,

At last-

Comparisons aside-

I gently,

Softly,

Find a bit
of heartfelt,

strongly prayed for
peace.

Today.

Tomorrow.

And the past,

of bliss.

Within a comb,

or bathroom floor,

or pillow where
I lonely wake.

I do not hesitate.

On seeing-

touching this
small bit of You-

It gives me hope.

It summons strength,

and Faith in Future
comes from such

a simple,

sublime,

unthought Token-

And I
gain Grace,

without You here-

Within a
Single Strand

of well loved,

longed for,

well remembered Hair.'

For my Marcy

March 10,2014