"Her" – Bob Rees

For some reason
he kept wondering
what She looked like,
how She spoke,
how She carried
He thought of his mother,
a raven-haired and porcelained
Perhaps there was something
of her.
Then he remembered of his wife,
dead now
but still alive
in his heart,
and surmised that at least some
of her
might reveal traces--
haloed hair,
blue eyes,
grace and generosity
without measure
and singing that echoed
Next, he thought of his daughters,
both bright
and capable,
dignified, alive,
and his granddaughter,
who could catch
light in her imagination
and unravel the sun
to its smallest
like stars in the
night sky.
Yes, he thought,
some of her too was in
Her as well,
as was some of
and Mary
and even
and the Magdalene.
Perhaps when She helped
shape the
first woman,
She encoded some of herself
in her hair,
in her eyes,
in her beautiful mouth
and rounded breasts,
planting seeds of Herself
deep down,
under her skin,
in her heart,
in dendritic cells
and genes,
so that
down the ages,
some trace of Her
in every woman
on earth,
and watching them,
seeing them,
delighting in them,
even loving them,
was how he could
imagine Her.

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