by on November 21, 2012 :: 0 comments

I stand in the kitchen
stirring vegetables
for soup, imagining
I’m another person,
perhaps the hairdresser
there, in the corner
smoking between
hairdos, wondering
how the audible click
of scissors becomes
a poem if only in the head,
at least while red
potatoes, orange carrots
and naked leeks break
their firm texture and shape
into a thin, waxy moisture,
poured over the scalp.

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