By Kimee E. Santiago
May 14, 2008
I tug at a stray thread
Dangling from my skirt hem.
It stretches, as the cloth
Ripples with resistance.
It breaks to coil into a frizzed
Ringlet and announce
It is hair, not thread.
For a year of wears-and-washes
My skirt kept a secret:
It has life stitched in it
Peeking into me, into a spot
Most honest and pure.
3 comments:
Is it really hair? How the heavens did it get in there?!
I wonder whose hair it is. That's a potential DNA sample, dear.
how in the world did i miss commenting on this very interesting work? is this a coming-of-age poem?
just how long is that hair? ;)
i will leave these questions unanswered. ;D
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