Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

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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