Snaked
By S.L. Salazar
I can say now that I have snaked a drain.
Endless ceaseless magician’s scarves of hair and soap and dead skin.
I just got here in June, and none of this hair is mine.
It’s long and brown, and there is so much.
Was my sister scared by all of this hair falling out?
Would she have snaked this drain herself if she knew that she was dying?
That I’d be on my knees, cry-puking because it’s so gross,
Stifling the urge to clutch the globby clods to the skin of my cheek?
Endless ceaseless magician’s scarves of hair and soap and dead skin.
I just got here in June, and none of this hair is mine.
It’s long and brown, and there is so much.
Was my sister scared by all of this hair falling out?
Would she have snaked this drain herself if she knew that she was dying?
That I’d be on my knees, cry-puking because it’s so gross,
Stifling the urge to clutch the globby clods to the skin of my cheek?
S.L. Salazar is from the desert where everything is sharp, hurts and is out to get you. She received a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona in 2013. After losing her sister and best friend, she has set up residency in the graveyard of her mind. Future plans include rejoining the land of the living and eventually starting something worth finishing