Iron Oxide

I pick at my split-ends,

even if they’re not broken,

the loves I had spun from golden

into dust.

You sit next to me,

watch as I bend over debris,

the shiny cars I watered

into rust.

You lift my head,

chin in the palm of your hands,

remove the remaining strands

from my grasp.

I watch as they fall,

slipping into the tattered vault

where my infatuations go

to fast.

Clara Dekker is a SCAPA literary arts major and a senior at Lafayette. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with her pets, doing costuming for theatre, and baking.