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On the Importance of Combs and Brushes
By Jane Alynn

She always wanted me to comb her hair
as if this tenuous bridge
between mother and daughter
could be crossed by tending
her tresses. So I’d comb and brush
and touch her fine blonde locks,
massaging the roots with attentive fingers
until she closed her eyes.
And who knows
what this gesture did for her,
what hairline path it cut
through the woods, a tangled forest
of relationship. A scene
of limbs, thick, knitted
and crossing themselves
to survive this symbiotic mesh
of lichen, like hair.

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