where the writers are

Would to God that my mother had
not been a leaf scattered every-
where and as the wind listeth ....
When the image of her comes up
on a sudden – just as my bad
demons do – and I see her dyed
henna hair, the eyes dwarfed by
the electric lights in the Stary Lady
Barber Shop, and the ear, broken
wing of her mouth, and when I
regard her wild tatters, I know that
not even Solomon in his lilied rai-
ment was so glorious as my mother
in her rags.  Selah.

– Edward Dahlberg, Because I Was Flesh