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Memento Mori


"God blessed you with curly hair,"
my mother used to say
and dressed me like Shirley Temple.

On my bare scalp, Australia,
a birthmark that hid
in the thicket of my hair.

Unblessed in a downburst, I lost
my leafy summer, my lovely,
my crest, my crown.

I sleep in a flannel nightcap.
My wig sleeps in a closet,
comb and brush in a drawer.

I wake to a still lifeó
a clock that marks the hour
before it strikes.

No skull on my desk.
Just a face in the mirror,
unrecognizable.


Chana Bloch

The Moon Is Almost Full
Autumn House Press


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