My Lost Poem: Published In Paris/Atlantic. An International Journal of Creative Work. Volume XXII (Volume 22)

Stephanie Lynn Hilpert

My hair grows like weed,
or some sort of garden
dried by the sun.

It tangles like the thread
in an old ladies’ sewing kit.

It splits easy at the
end of this rope,

Painted dark by the
artist in my mother’s womb.

Sperm like the brush gently
touched against her egg
coloring me French,
German, and Italian.

Coloring me pale and lost
underneath this bush

That climbs itself into
my skull and reminds
me of my roots.


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