The Little Loss

by Dorothy Doyle Mienko
PenShells
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