Vox Populi

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Baruch November: Beard 7

In its color alone, 

my beard is the sun falling upon the evening 

and some days 

it is chaffing brambles, poison 

sumac, creeping red vines everywhere.


On other days, it is the nest I never want to leave 

even if that means not

finding someone to pull my beard 

softly toward her.


And when my beard lowers on the ocean, 

its tendrils flicker and break

the horizon line.


And at that setting point, I wish for my beard 

to have fishing hooks 

on each strand’s end, 


for we are always wanting—

those of my hair color. King David even took

a 16th wife for nothing


but the last few seconds 

of his life 

just to warm 

him up 

to the hereafter.

Copyright 2019 Baruch November. From Bar Mitzvah Dreams published by Main Street Rag.

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