by Tricia Louvar
Hair circles back to my lap. Maybe, I should
Just leave you alone. Yet
Tufts of your dreadlocks salty fingers
And weave into sleeved fabric.
Strands on lobed leaves, clusters
Stalked in the eaves--clog
The deck until I reach down
Throwing pieces of you to the vireos.
Originally published in The Bark Magazine, April/May 2010