This tangle of hair,
a rat’s nest of memories
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
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.
still threaten to choke when they catch in my throat
As I sweep dusty split ends under the rug.