Hair: my bangs were white and long,
translucent in the morning sunshine.
I saw
my brother's face,
the first face I remember distinctly, through shafts of
shaggy hair
which gave way to tight, dark curls
and clippers and scissors and dyes and irons
once I ditched it all, but for bangs less entertaining than
dyke handles still, it's pain
Also,
flashes of light that disappeared and racing my
lengthening shadow down the block I ran away once. The neighbors gave me licorice.
A series of interruptions, vulgarities and half-hearted prayers.
sitting up straight in Sunday chairs and the state of
my fliptop desk the light in his eyes; the smell of his hair
faces, also, dumb from fear
trinkets,
hearts and clubs