Men feared them like the gallows. Night fell When I combed them out. No one could see me in the dark. Then I stood still Too long and the braids took root. I wept, so helpless. The braids tapped deep and flourished. A man came by with an ox on his shoulders. He yoked it to my apron And pulled me from the ground. From that time on I wound the braids around my head So that my arms would be free to tend him. 2 He could lift a grown man by the belt with his teeth. In a contest, he’d press a whole hog, a side of beef. He loved his highballs, his herring, and the attentions of women. He died pounding his chest with no last word for anyone. The gin vessels in his face broke and darkened. I traced them Far from that room into Bremen on the Sea. The narrow streets twisted down to the piers. And far off, in the black, rocking water, the lights of trawlers Beckoned, like the heart’s uncertain signals, Faint, and final. 3 Of course I planted a great, full bush of roses on his grave. Who else would give the butcher roses but his wife?
