your hair that traps her

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you began under the skin,
a squeezing-hug swanning
in the dark red.

you dreamt in amniotic blankets
shifting sinuously in white noise,
soaking into your veins and
never fleeing.

you can still hear it whisper.
sewn into her smell,
the woman you dreamt in,
but punctured,
holding you tight, yet letting
you keep slipping
ringing in your ears like the lunar
mewl of stars.

do you remember
your mother at 2am squinting
at the kitchen table. a skirt full
of aged milk leaking through
a face that touches
the walls of your mind.

she was silk back then,
not the splintery thing she became
when too much life, like too much
smoke, or too much wine
had tunneled underneath her
black eyes.
had bore a hole and let in
ghosts.

you were a note in the ribs
perfume on paper,
the charmed sense to wake up
with the sun, and lie down
with the moon.

she hears you down the hall
in her heart and jolts awake.
it’s your melody of a scent that
never leaves her head.
your hair that traps her.

always listening
when you’re asleep, through
walls and dirt and
stars.

and tonight,
ringing in your ears.


 

© samantha lucero 2017

51 thoughts on “your hair that traps her

  1. Nostalgia-dyed, irreverent longing. Thank you for my hour of seeing in sepia. I am nausea and ache, as poems should do.

      1. I have an awkward way. Nausea is highly complimentary. I appreciate the stalk.

  2. The imagery in this piece is amazing!

    This stanza:

    she hears you down the hall
    in her heart and jolts awake.
    it’s your melody of a scent that
    never leaves her head.
    your hair that traps her.

    Seems to be particularly wonderful to my eyes.

    Well done!

  3. Such provocative imagery. Invoking senses. A sensory delight. You are so talented. I’m blown away. I is it about life and a child? I feel so stupid for asking. Lol but I guess u won’t know if I don’t ask 😉

    1. so, this reply is late because for some reason WP decided your comment was spam, wtf.
      anyway, you are right. it’s about those two very things. i think i mixed them both when the words were coming up. no need to feel stupid. sometimes writing poetry is a hint, or a game of clue.

  4. This brought so many images to mind. My daughter had these ringlet curls when she was little. They are still at the nape of her neck when she puts her hair up. Such a glimpse into the multiplicity of motherhood. thank you!

    1. I love this comment. I love writing about mothers/daughters and it meaning something to other mothers, or even daughters. Just know that I understand your sentiment about the ringlets in various ways. Thank you so much for sharing.

  5. she was silk back then,
    not the splintery thing she became
    when too much life, like too much
    smoke, or too much wine
    had tunneled underneath her
    black eyes.
    had bore a hole and let in
    ghosts.

    Your writing leaves me speechless.

  6. Some dark writing is just too confronting for my gentle sensitivities …. but you have the sweet ability to make the dark beautiful and invoke an ache within me. I think you are tremendous.

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