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c i m a r r o n r e v i e w 11
L i n d a H o g a n
The Red Part
When I was a girlThe old women told me if I were always generousI could paint a part in the middle of my hair with red.Red ochre. Red paint. Red lipstick.But it seemed not rightto reveal to the worldthat I am generous, because the announcement takes it back.So unlike other girls,I appeared selfish and ungivingalthough I gave so much away,but who would ever know.
I think of the many red parts,the parting of the seaby Moses who was leading his peoplein a never-ending story, the parting in the red stemof the plant for healing bad lungs,the parting of the heartwhen one side works with and against the otherand the veins in their milesflow back again and again.
But the red part I recall the mosthad to do with generosity, and thenour giving up the taken land again and againto those who so wanted it. We parted with ourclothing, our children, and on our waywe left the red partof a blood trail