Oh Scissors

This is how I remember scissors:
Scissors in my father’s hand,
Cutting the Medusa’s head to survive.

Scissors in my grandmother’s hand
And drapery falling to the floor
Like shreds of the longest nights of war.

Scissors in my mother’s hand
And butcher’s string bleeding
Between her fingers.

Pairs multiply in my mind:
Nail and moustache scissors;
Thinners and shapers…

Also garden shears, pruners and loppers;
Scissors for grape stems and twine,
For snipping the threads of the stars, one by one.

One thought on “Oh Scissors

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