My First Word

In the first dream I can remember having,

the moon stained my scalp 

a silvery gray. 

So each night I’d

wave a blonde flag 

out the window,

wishing it away.

 

By the time I was 10

I looked too old for my age,

carrying bags with big wheels.

My stepmum

picked both up

and handed me 

Sun In spray.

​

Oh

How I loved it when

men call me blondie 

over my real fucking name. 

 

And I’m back

To the roots of it all, 

at that same window

thinking of all the dry,

dead ends I must have left in every bed

.

Repeating myself,

 

as my mother reluctantly carries me 

from the tub.

I tug on her salty locks,

crying "hair"

Like it's all I can seem to articulate. 

 

By E M Perriman