Fisherman | Hannah Maiorano | 1st Place Poetry Contest Winner

I spread my hair across the ocean of

your skin and cast it out upon the wide

open bed. A net of brown fibres and

knotted curls. The rippling sheets bob

my head. Your body is turning over.

I once fucked a guy who later told me

he didn't understand why women cut off all

their hair, wear it short. What's the point

he asks seriously. Men need something

to hold on to. There is no room

for statements like that in my sea.

His body was later found dashed

against headboard cliffs.

But you wake up with curls wrapped

around your toes in the morning,

tickling the right side of your cheek,

even in the pockets of your clothing.

You gather this net in your arms,

place it in the bow of my chest and

tell me my weary head doesn't need

all that added weight.

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Hannah Maiorano has always written in some form or another her entire life. Her work has previously been published in Snapdragon, The Closed Eye Open, Wingless Dreamer, and more. When she isn't writing, she loves to make miniatures, visit art galleries, and hang out with her two cats and fiancee in downtown Toronto.