A part of me is excised,
swept away by the brisk broom
of a Mauritian hairdresser.
She clips and cuts
as I sit in silence, recalling
long river journeys.
A history of water flows
through seventy years,
touches each strand,
extracts isotopic confessions
from thinning grey.
My dark accomplice
sweeps the polished beech,
gathers up my secrets.
‘extracts isotopic confessions’ – great!
is an isotopic confession concrete or abstract Martin? I’m only having a go. What a wonderful poem.
Concrete, Sarah. According to the New Scientist, you can tell where someone has lived by the chemicals in their hair left by local water. Not a lot of people know that!
No doubt I will hear myself repeating that to somebody soon and they will look at me and wonder how I am so learned! (And then they will politely walk away!) So are there more curly haired people in certain parts of the world because of the water? Must be a nightmare for shampoo manufacturers.