chestnut curls drift
in lazy whorls
strangely
slowly
to the floor
time itself
reluctant
to touch her
but hair will grow
again not knowing
how relentless
is this blade
clothes torn
hair shorn
nothing left
to cut
reluctant fingers
relax their hold
cold clunk
of steel on counter
ashes
she turns
from the mirror
seeing nothing
hearing nothing
feeling blessed nothing
near the surface in this moment
but the urgency of ashes
there must be
something here
to burn
~jws
reworked from 2006 version
Linking up to dVerse ~ Poet's Pub Open Link night.
