Hair: my bangs were white and long, translucent in the morning sunshine.
I saw my brother's face,
the first face I remember distinctly, through shafts of
shaggy hair
which gave way to tight, dark curls
and clippers and scissors and dyes and irons
once I ditched it all, but for bangs less entertaining than dyke handles
still, it's pain
Also, flashes of light
that disappeared and racing my lengthening shadow down the block
I ran away once. The neighbors gave me licorice.
A series of interruptions, vulgarities and half-hearted prayers.

sitting up straight

in Sunday chairs and the state of my fliptop desk
the light in his eyes; the smell of his hair
faces, also, dumb from fear
trinkets, hearts and clubs