The Book Life

4.22 | April 23, 2010


Tomorrow I will be fierce.
Pushing back the curling tendrils
that hang in my face like tears,
tomorrow I will not flinch.

My hair is the color of rust
and all this time it’s been fading
toward a nonchalant version of brown
while I sit here in the near dark
and night never seems to fall,
dizzy with the scent of imagined saffron
golden in my nose. Tomorrow,
I will be fierce, will not flinch,
will stand up to spite the squall
and cut my hair off.

I have been waiting for a reason,
to a hear a rooster crow and wake me,
for a cock to crow and shame me;
I need no more signs. I will be fierce,
will leave this room, its sadness,
and I will leave my rust-colored hair
on its floor, walk clean
into the emporium of tomorrow.

Tomorrow. I will do it

[PROMPT: A wordle? I have no idea what means, but there were some words in a crossword-type shape, and I used some of them in a poem.]


1 Comment »

  1. I see hope here!

    flinching fiercely

    Comment by gautami tripathy — April 23, 2010 @ 12:01 pm

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