Unwinding

Persistence of Memory (1931)

By Salvador Dali

Oiling mother’s tired hair

Withered under each day’s sun

Tangled hopelessly behind her deceptive bun.

I moisten it gently

Like the month of July

And then,

Like I’ve seen her sometimes

Loosening the tense soil of a potted plant,

I push my fingers deeper

Into her slowly softening scalp.

The hair lusterless all week

Slowly grows adazzle and sleek

The strands of black and hennaed brown

And even the few greys that make her frown.

I go on to part her hair

Carefully

Like opening a precious gilded book.

And almost magically

Flanks and flanks of regal silver

Tucked within these unseen folds

Come into my full view.

Was it Time I was staring at?

Wound up and waiting

In the heart of my mother’s dense hair?

In any case,

I oiled it too, tenderly.

And then,

Braided it with the rest.