How you combed your fingers
through me when we met, amazed
that your own body

could grow such a garden.
Then one day you ripped
me from my home,

exposing a battlefield
of empty follicles and blood.
In defense, I burrowed deeper.

My barricades stood erect,
tiny red bumps blocking
you from what was left.

It hurt you to approach them.
You doused the scene in oils
to conceal your crime.

By tomorrow you will have
drowned my defenses, and
your skin will be almost as

smooth as before I grew there.
That’s how I knew
someone was coming for you.

His hands now graze the silky surface
from which I once grew.
You both know I’ll be back.



Anastasia DiFonzo (she/her) is a San Diego based poet with a cat named Klaus. She is Assistant Editor of Sledgehammer Lit, and her work can be found or is forthcoming in Kalopsia Lit, Tempered Runes Press, Serotonin Poetry, and elsewhere. She is on Instagram at @anastasia.difonzo and Twitter at @anmidaludi.