Let down your hair to me,
I asked,
and watched the sly uncurling.
Silk-bound secrets shook their shackles
and I learned what morning meant.
Let down your hair,
I asked, a tease –
golden secrets winking back.
I climbed her form and kissed her face.
I paused and watched
her bloom stretch on forever.
Let down your hair –
“I can’t tonight: the babe is wailing
something fierce, the floor’s unswept,
and don’t forget the winter’s on its way.”
Her face was drawn – not a challenge
but a law.
I shut my mouth and watched
the morning turn to noon.
Let down your hair – “it’s too late for that now,
don’t you see these wrinkles,
these sags,
this much-too-softness,
these hollows where once I was firm.
Don’t you know evening
when it strokes your ragged face?”
Let down your hair,
I whispered,
as though she could hear,
as though her hollows and softness and sags
hadn’t deafened her lovely ears.
As though midnight weren’t on our trail.
My darling, my darling, let down your hair
That I might climb that (silver) stair.
