scissors

by

Kathleen Hellen

she laughs. thinks the world will always need a cut. a trim. tells me college is just a piece of
paper… snip snip snip
she tilts my head. just the ends.
wisps. soft sweep of bangs… it could go her way, it might not. the world
coming hard at gas pumps. layoffs. the deficit of all our bombardments. it’s the game we play.
rock paper… the sign we make with the index and the middle fingers.
victory. peace. scissors.

Kathleen Hellen is the recipient of the James Still Award, the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, and prizes from the H.O.W. journal and Washington Square Review. Her debut collection Umberto’s Night won the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House. Featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, Hellen’s work has been nominated multiple times for Best of the Net, the Pushcart Prize, and recently, Best American Short Stories. She is the author of The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, Meet Me at the Bottom, and two chapbooks.