if her hair had a voice it would sing

if her hair had a voice it would sing
low and wordless yet musical
when no one appears to be listening
we refer to her hair
using words like "pelt" and "feral" and "river"
sometimes when we are talking about the governments
of foreign lands and rebels and the need for change,
supplies and fresh fruit we are actually talking about her hair
and sometimes when we dream about a sweet pale liquid
and wake up in the dark, our lips cracked,
our eyes wet, we are dreaming about her hair
when our president on TV moves his right hand
forcefully and talks in bold, sweeping generalizations,
he is thinking about her hair
before our old men die, when they are staring upwards
and the room dims, their last vision is other hair
falling slowly towards them, a gold curtain