 White Feathers by Ute Carson Silkworm 2007 Poet of Distinction Award, Florence Poets Society As a child I believed that the bald eagle's head was bare Until I saw it crowned with white feathers, Symbols of pride and transformation. Such contradiction! Bald men are said to be virile into old age. My eighty year-old grandfather, His hairless scalp glistening with sweat beads of anticipation, Overruled my grandmother's coy reluctance - "I'm not really in the mood tonight." Then my grandmother died Still bearing an abundance of flowing white hair. Observing my mother bathe and prepare her for burial, I gasped. No pubic hair! Like a baby. I hid my sadness at the sight. Wanting to cover her nakedness, I squeezed my eyes shut like clams And fervently prayed, "A few white feathers…just a few?"
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