There is a great echo, it is memory
it is in our bones, in the curl of our hair
that has turned its way from the beginning of time
my grandmother keeps her curls in a box
on the third floor of a Manhattan apartment building
I wear my curls in the wild winds
turning spirals with salt water
they are the grace of my lioness, the flutter of my wings
I will have long gray curls one day
I will have a little girl with curls one day
we all wear each other's faces interchangeably
in this transference of lifetimes
we are all story tellers
passing from child to woman to mother, and back again
my old roads are unknown to my new feet
separation is simply us moving back and forth
between parts of ourselves
there is no ending to the things begun
there is no answer to the question that propels us
through the beauty of this world
into the illumination of the next
my vision and my memories are the same
my life is teaching me the words
to enable it to be a story which can be told
we are never without wisdom, never without strength
our journey brings us to the meeting place,
origin, the beginning
do not feel lost when you realize
you have made your way home.
– Lisa Kagan –
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