Until at last the pattern is fully there,
who can read the figures that she weaves?
Ixchel sits on her heels, a snake in her hair.
Who can read the figures that she weaves
as she murmurs a lullaby, spell, or prayer?
One mother rejoices, another one grieves,
as she murmurs a lullaby, spell, or prayer
while children drop like tears, or rain, or leaves.
Ixchel sits on her heels, a snake in her hair
while children drop like tears, or rain, or leaves
until at last the pattern is fully there —
one mother rejoices, another one grieves.
Braiding
For Ruth
The right tress goes over the middle tress,
the cherry ribbon waits, I braid your hair.
Reining in your coltish energy, you hand
me barrettes, holding still to lend me your hair.
The left tress goes over the middle tress
the plait grows, a tassel of wheat in my hand.
Once in a far-off land, Mother did my hair,
and I loved the touch of her gentle hand.
It was a caress, she passed tress over tress
and as they fell into place in her hand,
I could almost purr at her touch on my hair.
Generations are braided, tress over tress
strand over strand and hand over hand.
Good silence or talk as tress covers tress,
how soft like new-spun silk, the childish hair.
Hand me the ribbon, we’re done, tress over tress.
May you some day hold such silk in your hand,
as you brush and braid a future child’s hair.
Enriqueta Carrington’s poetry in Spanish and English has appeared most recently in Contemporary Sonnet, Umbrella, and US1 Worksheets; has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has received the Atlanta Journal’s International Merit Award. She is the translator of several volumes of poetry, including Treasury of Mexican Love Poems. She teaches mathematics at Rutgers University. http://www.math.rutgers.edu/~carringt/Poetry
