I rake my fingers through my hair,
pull out long strands with the tangles,
let them sail out on the wind,
my left hand splayed out the driver’s side window.
Despite comparisons
to gold
and cornsilk
the hairs drop and blend, camouflaged,
into cobwebs
and dry leaves.
On the block
where you live
I let fly a fist-
ful. Not voodoo,
willing you to come
to me.
More like the reverse.
Like handing you the
secret key to
my control.
Control my key secret.
Me to come to you willing.
Dry leaves and cobwebs into cornsilk and gold.
Put back the tangles and roll up the window.
The voodoo of reverse.
pull out long strands with the tangles,
let them sail out on the wind,
my left hand splayed out the driver’s side window.
Despite comparisons
to gold
and cornsilk
the hairs drop and blend, camouflaged,
into cobwebs
and dry leaves.
On the block
where you live
I let fly a fist-
ful. Not voodoo,
willing you to come
to me.
More like the reverse.
Like handing you the
secret key to
my control.
Control my key secret.
Me to come to you willing.
Dry leaves and cobwebs into cornsilk and gold.
Put back the tangles and roll up the window.
The voodoo of reverse.
Kara Synhorst is a lifelong Sacramentan who has never lived more than seven miles from her childhood home. She got her B.A., teaching credential, and M.F.A. from CSU Sacramento and now teaches English at Luther Burbank High. She lives with her husband Reza and daughter Azadeh and two ornery cats. Her poems have appeared in Poetry Now, Convergence, The Found Poetry Review, unFold, and Susurrus.