I Break A Comb by Sheikha A.

every day, then send it to the sea
to mend it back together with a quality
of salt that should heal the cracks
like dignity’s hymen

but each time it returns, I slice
the head of one of my tresses,
the scars become slower to heal.

If only there didn’t exist vanity
for a lush head of luxurious locks,
my eyes would be the soft blue
of a clear day’s still sea

and my garden would grow no sculptures;

bring the snake charmer’s instrument
when you visit, sing my hair to sleep
or follow my comb to the sea
and drown it in poison;

bring it back only if you will

keep your eyes open

suppress no ghastly gasps
at my peeking baldness

Sheikha A.

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her work appears in a variety of literary venues across quarter-ways of the globe, that can be accessed on her blog sheikha82.wordpress.com. She edits poetry for eFiction India.

 

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