To the Half-Pound Wad of Hair I Snaked Out of My Shower Drain at 3 A.M

by Kaisha Girard

You should repulse me, but I’m drawn to you. The way you got stuck in the middle, like you decided you were beyond help and gave up the fight. How you shifted just the slightest bit at just the right moments to give me hope that you could do it, could free yourself from what was keeping you down, locked away in the dark. You intrigued me.

I’ve rescued you, but I also feel like I’ve killed you. Like by detaching you from all that you’ve known for this past segment of your life, I’ve separated you from your source of existence. Like you’re a hostage of a foreign war I knew (and still know) nothing about, and I’ve just written your death sentence by trying to get you out safely.

Now you’ve become trash, dropped into a collection of other things labeled as having less worth than the rest of their world. Thrown to the curb on a designated day of the week, to be crushed and destroyed as a lesson to all: “don’t be like them.” I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to agree with the soul-crushers and dream-destroyers.

Rest in peace.—or, to be honest, pieces.

Your extrication was not easy for either of us.


Kaisha A. Girard is a recent graduate of Saint Leo University in Florida who has had her work accepted to Delta Epsilon Sigma Journal, two Sigma Tau Delta International Conventions, and the Sandhill Review. She enjoys reading, writing, and editing the world and is thrilled that her studies have gained her the ability to participate more fully in the Jeopardy! games she views. A native Rhode Islander, Kaisha is inspired by her faith, her family, her friends, and the world around her.