My Hair, 2013 (mourning my mother)
Every look in the mirror or window
often
a remembrance that the fabric of my life has changed, torn, never the same
The curls flow and frizz and wind around and play
The grey is gentle
Big hair, lots of it, not controlled
Most strands for mom, a few curls for others who have gone before I was ready
There is a braid, a clip, some product, spray the curls, keep them shiny
Every look in the mirror or window
Often
A remembrance that the fabric of my life has changed, torn, never the same
Not able to be controlled
The Haircut, 2015
As part of my mourning practice I didn’t cut my hair for the year I said Kaddish for my dad. Soon my year is complete. Tomorrow I will cut my hair.
Every day I struggled with you, tangles, curls, frizz, out of control.
My vanity overruled by my need to have a daily reminder of my mourning.
As I prepare to cut my hair to mark the year, I notice that
You are still gone
You aren’t coming back
I am stunned
I didn’t know you well.
I knew you too well.
I am grateful for your long life
There is still more to know about you.
When I look in the mirror I will not see unkempt tangles, weariness, and the broken and confused heart. I will see you looking back.
Waiting.