The Hairdresser’s Passover

Touching hair: Clip, comb, cut.
She worked, reflecting:

“Silent predator unseen
like a shark hunting, smelling blood,
waits in silence, ready to strike.
Unseen finds its prey, strikes inside.”

Clip, comb, cut.
She asks herself:

“Will I soon be without strength
among the dead
with those whose ashes
lie in the grave.”

Clip, comb, cut.
A glint…
…of sunshine sought her eye. 

“And my beloved child
can I now touch him today
without fear this viral shark
will prey on his lungs this way.” 

Clip, comb, cut.
A glimpse…
…towards the garden outside.

“My mind suffers
from horrors heard.
My soul aches,
from afflictions seen.”

Clip, comb, cut.
A glance…
…to where salvias and dragonflies thrive.

“Lord, I call upon you, every day.
I am wearied, be my shield.
Amidst pandemic’s scourge, 
what passover will there be?”

Clip, comb, cut done. 
Sits outside…
  …gazes at a dragonfly.

© Craig A. Roberts, 2020
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