My face I own
it is mine all twisted
in wrinkle and vein
but my hair
has no honor
I thought it agreed
“Less combing”
in exchange for
“Robust growth”
more “blow-dry”
for “less grey”
the hair belongs
elsewhere
I’ve no shampoo called
“Meeting You Half-Way”
More from Issue #1
Romancing a Blank Sheet by Darlyn C. Lojero
who knows you more but the fingers that traverse the arch of your back and trace the minute soldiers on your weakening limbs? they have been searching and discovering all that is…
Carnival by Dave Gregg
a sad story the other day a woman ate a large slice of King Cake choked on the baby baked inside not even real or ever born she was a grandmother, 94,…
Over Coat by Dave Gregg
this red jacket and it’s attitude always superior whatever generation wore it, mother, grandmother myself now my own sits and eyes it warily, judges “It will not fit,” “But it will,” I…
The Bees Are Gone by Gloria Keeley
the logs of river divers swim the deep spring a house on the shore reveals stitch work of drawn drapes bees spin over Africa stop the globe in mid hive land on…