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Show SIF'S HAIR An escapee from home, a fugitive From cruelty, on four-inch, clumsy Clogs, in a too-filmy blouse. "Ya! Ha! " brothers say at home. "What stupid shoes! Mother! You are NOT going to let her go out Like that! Are you ? Mother ? " Beyond such voices she was vulnerable, Aware of the peach blossoms Showing through her too-filmy blouse, Ashamed of her "all-the-rage" clumsy shoes, But her hair was straight-burnished clean, Spun threads to her slim waist From Sigurd's blazing forge. "Sif, " I said, and touched her hair. Her ice-blue eyes startled mine- Fear of a prim old woman in bunioned shoes And crepe-neck-covering scarf. |