Losing hair

Sleep hardly arrives except in body-turns
A tongue sticking out, a mouth wide open
Like a vigilant dog on the middle of a road.
Body cracks of  winter gone, summer come.

A diary is somewhat in the back of woods.
I retrieve it from the wolves of night sleep,
Entrusting sleep of fortune to a fan's hiding ,
A chronicle of what went on about this lady.
The cracks are there, visible in mind's body.

When she has too much of this good thing
Like cells multiplying in a child bag of past
Body cracks ,sticking its neck out at a risk.
So she removes the bag, removes its handle
What is left and aren't they gone, those little
Squiggly worms in the bag, all thrown out
Along with bag ,safely into a doctor's bin?
Tell me where is the  dyed hair from her pate
When everything is fine and a bag duly gone.

(Losing hair after chemo-therapy is some times more
 traumatic than cancer itself)


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