Day 5

Bad Hair Day

A little wisp of blonde hair

flies through the gentle breeze,

an aftermath of a light drizzle

that put a damper on our plans.

This wild ponytail straggler

line dances back and forth

like a metronome keeping time

or a persistent child nuisance.

The former bangs escape bondage,

bobby pins can’t keep them down,

tickling my eyes and nose;

tousled rebels with no cause.

Repeated hand sweeps avail me not;

the daunting wind won’t let up.

I surrender to the peer pressure

and set the rest of my hair free.

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No, Only Wounds

Wounds run as deep as the seeds that plant them. I find myself hiding behind their scars. Fear imprisons my inhibitions, a loss

which freezes my dying soul. The candles I lined on the path to my room, pure as vanilla drifting on high; no halo do they produce, only darkness; no peace do they bring, only niggling. I am buried under mounds of regret; no sunshine do I see. I want to grow, to live again; yet I am a tree stump. Will you ever forgive me, let it go? Only then will I blossom and flourish, burst through the soil and bury my wounds.

@Laurie Kolp