April 20, 2010

John Grey


Her hair is long and gray
but with slow, steady strokes,
I comb some of the blonde youth
back into it.
She talks of twilights,
of the music wafting out of her,
of the plots and betrayals
of the heart.
But the loving fine teeth
soothe with appreciation
for the unaccountable joys
of even the most bed-ridden life.
Her own fingers tremble
at the touch of the implement
but she can have a little of my years
as I talk memory, preen love.
Some days, the truth of the matter
is in the grooming,
in the hands that descend like doves,
restore their roosting places.


John Grey, born in Australia, has lived in the USA since the 1970s. His work has appeared in Slant, Briar Cliff Review, Albatross, Poetry East, Cape Rock, REAL and elsewhere.

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