Detangler and Patience


This tangle of hair,
a rat’s nest of memories
of speculation
of self-doubt in the face of
carefully constructed conversations.

This blonde hair
needs never met;

A brown hair our meeting, mingling
flesh on flesh;

This pink hair a frazzled friendship
trust torn from the scalp;

And the long, curly hair found under your blankets.

I wallowed in heavy curtains of human hair
yours, mine, hers
a keratin coffin
concealing, encasing
suppressing, oppressing
for Too Long.

How to trust again?
How to love?
With conditioner and comb,
I pick mats apart strand by strand
sometimes scratching too hard at the scabs of your scalping
flakes falling on pillows
for lovers to see.

Detangler and patience.

Bile-soaked hairballs
still threaten to choke when they catch in my throat
As I sweep dusty split ends under the rug.


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