Trepanning Shane Vaughan
She takes the blade to my scalp and lopes off a thick bundle of hair , wincing , as each strand falls like off-yellow worms against the carpet swamp , then scrapes at the roots with rough edge until a patch forms , my tonsurette , and she can cut deep lines , crevices , an untidy hole , until the floor is covered in red and blond , little worms swimming in drunkenness . And we wait . ‘ til memories come and she scoops them with closed palms like a child to water until thirsty no more , drops them to the floor where they puddle and we can pull on our boots , hers blue mine red , and splash like I ’ ve forgotten how , sing a song about rain like it ’ s the first time I ’ ve heard the lyrics . Until later , when we curl up in bed and I bleed all over her , ‘ til a crust comes to form a scab , to be picked by someone else ’ s nails .
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