Having read some of these poems at Spillwords and elsewhere, I can definitely say that this collection from Barbara Harris Leonhard is something to look forward to.
Imagine carrying your life history with you every day. We all do! Are yours as revealing as those in this poem by Barbara Harris Leonhard?
I’m delighted Spillwords Press published one of my poems.
My Hair Eats Everything
Silver pelage. Static cling
Velcro mouth gulping my life.
My hair, a pantry of my days.
Famished patron of my past.
It shows in my sheen, the shine
Of a clean plate.
Baby hair matted with egg,
Pureed peas, sour milk, spaghetti sauce,
Bits of cereal. Mom’s cleansing spit
Over my crown. Kisses planted
In the soil of my hair. Luster of life
Grows into a hungry coif.
The long stems of flowers
Woven into braids. My first perfume,
Splashes of hot lavender baths,
Swashes of wet polish, and Dippity-Do
Cling to my curls and create a crown
Of a complex banquet.
Grandpa’s musty garage, his yard
Of lake breeze. The smell of sand
Tangles my hair into my mouth.
The steam of Grandma’s fried sausage, rising dough,
Stewed chicken, spilled honey from…
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