Healing in Wrecks
- Kimimila DeCory (Minnesota, USA)
And so it starts with a
Mistake: my rotting curls only ever soak in lightning.
And it’s because the bolts fry the split ends into oblivion,
abandoning me with shivering follicles.
In other words
My naked, scalp was burdened with
Holes that can barely hold obscured puddles.
And it’s a pity, because
With missing chaos there’s an entire sky to reflect, but with deprival
The water will eventually slip away like an aching sweat.
Well I guess if I had my brown, disheveled strands
The rushing rain could splatter into the cherished innocence
They wouldn’t escape in the openness, no, they would form droplets.
Yes….
They would journey upon the wild length, and even nourish my knots longer
But it’s all gone, and for the first time
I want it to grow.
Ends with a
Correction: I learn when my curls rot from lighting
It is only when I seize a perish, does the strike of loss
See something worth mourning
So- a simple shower won’t do, instead
wreck me with lighting
Soak me in wreckage
Wreck me
Because those who are wrecked, are those who can heal.