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
