To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Laura Craig Mason's previous piece To Laura Craig Mason's next piece
Rootless Trees have their rings to mark age. Oysters turn the pain of sand abrasions into pearls and all I have is a bag full of shorn hair and scalp scalding from ammonia stench. I am as ageless as the fae; as weary as their myth weavers. My heritage has been lost over immigrantís boat and my fatherís tall tales of the family Stevenson. Iím as Irish as lucky charms; as German as Coors beer and as American as pop tarts. All I have is this bag full of shorn hair, and a box of hair dye to connect me to my brother's coloring, to separate me from my mother's identity. Trees have their branches, and oysters have the sea. Even in the midst of words I am as alone and lost as the meaning of faerie tales.
To the top of this page