Woman, Blue Hair

there’s a woman with blue hair sleeping in my closet
her clothes are on the floor the walls the ceiling
she plays me Leonard Cohen and Lady Gaga
and we sit in silence having conversations
her hair tied tight twisted she paints herself
and she lights a candle in the nucleus of my apartment
she speaks Leonard Cohen and Lady Gaga
and patiently she teaches me languages i’ve never dug from the cold ground

i asked her to come to Denver
and she arrived on my doorstep

she tells me that she’s staying here as long as she likes
she doesn’t apologize and she doesn’t need to

she makes me question god
and helps me find it in the thick rings of my tree

she sings like warcry and nirvana

and the mirrors are part of the conversation
the open books scattered like dead birds on the floor
the chair, the bookshelves

in this tiny room of an apartment there is a tangible physical representation in each minute detail of the war that wages in the confines of my mind and she enters in it unafraid and curious and lovely and lighting a candle in the nucleus of it all speaking Cohen and Gaga and sweet songs as i wake up into a new life with her unafraid as all hell

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2017

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

2 thoughts on “Woman, Blue Hair”

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