Holding tears beneath excessive eye-make-up
not smart when pealing secrets from heartache
I noticed the Analyst had cut her hair
in Jewish faith, hair is a woman’s greatest vanity
to cut it, often a sign of extreme despair
I cut mine when I was sick, it fell like a lambs tail
to the floor in red scissored ribbons
in the mirror I looked like a shorn stranger
trying to climb out of familiar eyes
reminding me of the time I sheered it off at 16
my lover left me soon after, he did not care for short-haired girls
I told the Analyst I liked her new look
wondering if there was a story behind it
the never-never velvet glove of Pan’s world
his need not to be a he or she or have a Wendy
instead to be free as we are at ten when
nothing of this world can truly touch us
gender becomes a learned yoke in the future
she recalled her sheer days of freedom
wishing to return as we all do, to a kinder time
I do not know if I am this or that
but I know what I am not
I felt it was honest, when you do something big
there is always more of a story behind an act
I sat looking out of the small office window
remembering sitting there before
sick and heaving
thin and fat
slump shouldered, bare-faced and dolled up in war paint
I remembered
driving to you and dancing in my limbs
as I saw you look up and wink
changing the light with your smile
knowing
I will never leave that office and find you again
because you were gone even then
I just hadn’t known it
too sick, too set on denial and fever dreams
perhaps when you know you will never experience
that feeling again
it is harder to let go, watch such a large part of you, fade into background
you are grieving she said
her short hair in her face
I thought of you and the pulse, laying like a long empty road, between us
my heart squeezed with a terrible pain
children flying from an open window into stars
tears splash on my skin, like your touch
which I will not feel again in this life time
so you pronounced with granite in your eyes
and I nodded
dumbly
unable to say anything more
but watch the light
skip in and out of the small windowpane
where once I held
as much pure love
as Peter Pan
So much more to our stories than meets another’s eyes. Wonderful, wonderful, words you have spoken!
I love this one! You’ve put so much into it. Vision from so many different perspectives, all wrapped into a single image of a new ‘do.
Beautifully tragic
I thought of you and the pulse, laying like a long empty road, between us
Wow. You leave it all exposed as much as you ever did. I admire this kind of honesty in writing, C.
There’s so much here, stories within stories, and it keeps running through my mind; She cut her hair and said, “You are grieving.”
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Remembering Remembering
So, so, poignant
Beautifully sad!
Second star to the right, and straight on till morning is where you will find me sister, come join me anytime in Neverland…
If anyone i know inhabits it, then it is you and you know that is a huge compliment. BTW you must start fencing again! You must!