Early In The MorningBy Li-Young LeeWhile the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher's ink.
She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.
My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother's hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.
I chose this poem because I believe it has a simple beauty to it. A kindof average loveliness that people take for granted most of the time. I feel that the voice in this poem is remembrance, love, and a secret glee at having the knowledge not many people have over a subject. Remembrance because of when Lee starts off the beginning of the poem describing how he would have breakfast, 'While the long grain is softening/in the water, gurgling/over a low stove flame, before/the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced/for breakfast'. Love when he describes his father waiting to hear the music of comb against hair. Secret glee when he ends the poem saying the true reason why his father loves his mothers hair.
