watching the backsplash, I make loops and daisies
along a pink scalp
in turning 24 my hairs feel thicker, their personhood doomed.
in silver linings and shearling beds I am still sixteen.
orange is the soul food of last summer sunlight, the mourning
delinquent as she waxes
hairless, I rattle and Howl for the age of gentle loneliness
to sweep me into her grandmother dialect
my district of citrus fruits and insects. the air like oil
breathing out like thick cotton weave.
the steel drums delirious with dope, mindless as
they wander through the birthday party.
About the Creator
Elsie Coen
i am a middle school teacher whose words are not always appropriate for the classroom, but I'm sure as hell they've run their course through those kids' minds. salivate over the words and chew them until they're yours and only yours.
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