The Little Loss
by Dorothy Doyle MienkoPenShells
Honorable Mention, April 2017
Judged by R.T. Castleberry
My hair falls
into the wastebasket
like a death
How can I explain
this letting go
shall I mention
The word fistful
of long strands
loud as weeping
Here is a smoky dream
and I am in it
permanent enough
to scar
I shall slide
down this long night
of black stars
Entirely open
to meet myself
on steepled
Stairways
where sadness
wears me
As gown
of blue leaves
the baldness
Touches me
touching it
momentarily
I accept
how I am fog
even so
These scars
own nothing
my heart
it directs with a fist