Hair and Other Poems

By Becky Walker

Hair

It must be a breakdown
that must be it
when a woman cuts off her hair.
Her sense of togetherness tied to her tresses
it can be shorn away like Samson’s strength.
And if she keeps it so
then is she not forever held in that moment of ‘broken’?

No.
This is no breakdown.
It is a breakup
with the frayed strands of herself 
she carries the weight of 
 from familiarity and uncertainty 
not because it still suits.
Until one day she sees bitter clear
that it is a long time since it has been healthy 
and she remembers yearningly what it was to have healthy.
And with this realisation comes self-determinism 
so she cuts herself 
free and freer with each slice of the shears
and everything she wants to be rid of scatters at her feet
And now she is clear 
she can see how she could style herself anew.

The Mark

There was still a mark
despite her best efforts at washing it out
staining like grease
and just when it looked like it might have come out
that the latest hack worked
when dry? It lingered still
the mark haunting the fibers
 marring the weave

It was still there
despite her best efforts at distracting from it
the corsage’s heady fragrance as the blooms died a protracted death
masked the rot as they became decay
and the spray of fresh foliage withered and contracted
the mark spreading from under it

It was still there
when another event called for it
called for her 
and the shame of the stain on the expected outfit.
but she styles herself differently now 
and has since decided
enough was enough and to make sure set fire to it.

Whitewash

The sound was soothing
Soft sucking of the roller as it passed over the surface
over and again
and over and again
paint leaks and runs from the roller
pouring
smoothed over
pouring
smoothed over
over and over paint pours from the roller
and it can’t, yet it does,
still it leaks and still it flows
over and over the roller goes,
and still it leaks and still it pours
and roller and paint become metaphors
So wash over, wash over,
pour with paint old paint roller
Wipe out, wash out,
Old roller whitewash it out.

Becky Walker is a mixed media artist and spoken word performer based in Westcliff, UK.

Much of Becky’s art-work has been theoretically rooted in literary philosophies and she has long written extensively in support of both this and her spoken word. Following being fortunate enough to have a piece of flash fiction published, she is currently developing her writing as a distinct art form.