Tendrils

Shaking fingers dig deep and uproot
handfuls of hair,
small pieces of flesh still attached at their golden bases.
I scatter them to the wind and know that from now on,
every bird’s nest I see may contain a tendril of myself
woven in amongst the twigs and mud,
cushioning a new life with better chances than mine.
A life born from what feels like neglect
but what I am told is
the furthest thing from it.

Rachael Gay is a barista and recent graduate of Hamline University living in St. Paul, Minnesota. Her work has appeared in fēlan and Errata Magazine.

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One Response to Tendrils

  1. Ali Grimshaw says:

    Lovely. I especially like this line, “every bird’s nest I see may contain a tendril of myself” Nicely done.

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