As you sleep, I gather
your hair—each strand
so thin it spills from
my hands like wet
clay through your hands
when you showed me
how to braid glass
into clay you glazed
brown and blue with
copper, named it earth
and sky. Clay that was
molded and stretched
into flat plains and hollow
hemispheres, into
the earth broken open
and drained of its oceans,
emptied of coral reefs,
dolphins, and shipwrecks
leaving only shards of glass
that catch and release
the sun in my eyes.
Clay you fired in the kiln
that would incinerate
your hair that keeps
falling from my hands,
from this loose braid
tumbling down your neck
until you wake, your hair
in knots, my fingers tangled
and tangling in your hair
until slowly, you reach
behind your head, place
your hands on mine,
and guide them through
your hair, untangling
the mess I’ve made,
knot by knot, strand
by strand, and we unravel.
your hair—each strand
so thin it spills from
my hands like wet
clay through your hands
when you showed me
how to braid glass
into clay you glazed
brown and blue with
copper, named it earth
and sky. Clay that was
molded and stretched
into flat plains and hollow
hemispheres, into
the earth broken open
and drained of its oceans,
emptied of coral reefs,
dolphins, and shipwrecks
leaving only shards of glass
that catch and release
the sun in my eyes.
Clay you fired in the kiln
that would incinerate
your hair that keeps
falling from my hands,
from this loose braid
tumbling down your neck
until you wake, your hair
in knots, my fingers tangled
and tangling in your hair
until slowly, you reach
behind your head, place
your hands on mine,
and guide them through
your hair, untangling
the mess I’ve made,
knot by knot, strand
by strand, and we unravel.
William Brown is an MFA candidate in poetry at The University of Florida. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in journals such as Copper Nickel, Crab Creek Review, The Hopkins Review, The Madison Review, and elsewhere. Twitter: @willyraiford; Website: wbrownwriting.com.