it had been long with steady waters
in your eyes, all tide suspended safe
into anatomic place. no thought was a spit
of fire now. no burn was a body.
you had turned your face to this new sun
and bathed well in its rested luster.
on the morning you were to escape
home, mother was changing
the waters of the farewell
bouquet. remember, she had said, the secret
to keep them alive
is to cut off a bit from the stems—
you remember this as you stand
in a borrowed bathroom trimming
your split ends on the day a war
has begun in a country other than your
own. the scissor snips your finger
in the attempt and you watch the cut—
how like a confession
it breaches the skin into two.
but tonight your blood is
but three dots on a white sink.
i cut this hairself by Perla Kantarjian | Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
