Like Alice Does.
Alice sits brushing her hair,
stroke following stroke,
her husband sitting
on the edge of the bed
watching, studying her
hand and brush going
downward and out and
downward and out, and
as he watches he suddenly
remembers his mother
doing likewise and he
standing by the doorframe
of her bedroom, sees her
hand pull the brush through
her tight black hair, and
hears her sobbing voice
over the old white radio
playing some country song,
and senses an uneasiness
fill him like a wetting of pants,
and his mother gazing at him
in the mirror before her with
her red rimmed eyes and he
knowing as she lifts the brush
threateningly, that that way
pain comes and danger lies.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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