I Cut My Hair With The Kitchen Scissors And Find That I Am Always Grieving

By Samyukta Raghavan

I extend an olive branch

And fell the whole tree.

I am alone in this house,

Don’t test me, I’ll eat all of the sun.

I am Adam, I am Eve.

I admit I lost the garden.

I cut the fruit in half,

It’s not my fault

You loved it just as well.

We are both guilty by association.

Place me against harsh light,

Don’t cover your eyes, I’m unbearably bright.

Look at me, i'm a bad apple,

You couldn't suck the rot out

Even if you tried.

I’ll wash all the blood off my hands,

I’ll do it first first,

You don’t have to move an inch, a muscle.

Two more showers under tepid tap water,

And I’ll be fine.

I cut my hair with the kitchen scissors

And find I am always grieving.

I hold wet hair with cold hands.

The rigor mortis sets in.

This must be how the city feels.

All things come here and die in its arms;

I walk home, I sit on the pavement,

I watch the cars, I am always watching.

I just barely notice when the headlights scream

Get up get up we’ll run you over!

I look both ways before i cross the street.

I can take rush hour traffic,

I can take waking up with stones in my mouth,

Just don’t spit on my grave

Even though I will try to understand.

By Samyukta Raghavan