Her follicles have slowed releasing
auburn and gold into their pale straws.
Warmth dissipates from her hair.
Sungrazing comets flame
their brightest before death—
all glow with no dying flicker.
Gusts wail the valley out back.
Claws rip tangles, scalp mind.
In her sleep a barn owl shrieks.
Wet strands circle the drain.
Ashen threads drip fingers,
stick to walls, wrap toes.
Still she brushes her hair on the porch,
sheds and renews for spring’s nesting lark
who will cushion her hatch by instinct.
Poppy Road Review, August 2022
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