Xanadu
 

I clamp down on your hair with a firm, unforgiving grip–the need to be perfect. As I go through each strand, you hear me singing in your ear, creating a smooth glossy masterpiece. As I move swiftly through, I burn the natural locks that God constructed. Day after day, night after night, I am constantly being used. You look in the mirror—hating what looks back at you. In the morning, you plug me back in,smelling the scorched follicles. Destroying who you were– producing

Between muted saltbush behind my grandma’s house, you spread, tendrils unfolding in thin, bare tangles under the pistachio shell ground. Above you add vibrant flavor to the plain salad of flora, plenty more appealing than the desert toned prickly pear. While the New Mexico cedar and dropseed grass thrive alone, you rely on the nurturing hands of those who crave your scorched leaves.

Peaking out, seeing your reflection every pass— the home of the delicate floating speculum. Sash— holding it so it does not move. The freeing feeling of looking out, I do not know what you will find, but you watch the world move silent or loud. I shield you from the outside guarding the coziness of your home like a protector. Reflecting the clouds as the sun bounces on the pier glass. Clearing the eyes of a fragile soul.

The fairies in the grass fly gently through my garden. Their brilliance seldomly gracing me. In times past, I’d beckon them close, whisper my wishes, fill my cheeks, and puff a billowing wind, sending them away. They carried my lead confessions upon lace wings. Watching them soar, I often wondered what fate they would bestow upon my leather skin. Those little fairies of red and black will one day become nothing more than pests to me. But for now, allow me to imagine some d

Try and catch them. They flit away, fluttering and floating just out of reach. So untouchable they might not even be real. Step into light filtering through the window. Squinting through the thick, dazzling haze— the air is bright. Your nose and hair is bright. Look! The particles have been caught on your lashes. Millions of tiny ones.

I traverse the vast frozen lake— with each step, deep haunting rumbles emit as the surface fractures with each stride— this sheet is giving once more, under the weight of my trials. Beneath the ice— where the murky, frigid waters expand into the depths of the indefinite— the threshold of light’s departing, and the birthing of darkness. Those who fall through the ice— succumb to the cold, surrender their will, sink to the lake’s bottom, wish for another chance. Those who rise

I dangle from the withered stem, the radiance of my color reflects off the sun. You pick me, peel off my flavedo and push them to the side. My pericarp not needed— paying no attention. The strings hanging on like a noose and yet you dismiss. Dangerously draining my vessels I become your vitals. The pigment of my peel is disregarded. You peel until you get me how you want. You peel without recognition of how I feel. You peel until I am just how you want.

The putrescent petals were pried away, and my sepal had surely scraped. You cut me of my dignity— but I grew with vulnerability. I could've been nodeless, rootless in my wrath— but instead, I poured my energy into blooming, transforming pain into photosynthesis. The sun reached for me. The rain spilled over me. The air moved through me. My stamen and pistil made love — and I flourished. My receptacle held not only flowers, but resilience.

You create a mold, carefully handbuilding each part and wedging it to remove imperfections until it is bone dry and leather-hard. The clay body you created, thinking it will hold, thinking it is glazed to perfection. But it isn’t. Someone sees a crack, the greenware to your design that you claimed was scored and slipped to your liking— to their liking. A mold once keenly crafted has begun to come apart. But why? It was made with such careful planning— burnishing each pa

The chassis is my body, tires my feet, axles my arms, and the engine my heart. This is it, flying as if I were a bird, trees become blurs. Nothing else on the mind but controlling my body. the combination of a million tiny metal pieces coming together is my peace. Like the car I have become, peace can go just as fast as it comes. Incapable of permanence in one spot.