haircut

 

Interrupting chemo’s cruelty

I wield the silver blades which

until now, had simply trimmed bangs,

snipped itchy tags out of shirt collars.

 

A fine paintbrush of mom’s black hair

in one hand; the other shaken

by tiny vibrations,

each strand liberated

as the scissors close over them

by my will.

 

Finished, our gazes lock

in the bathroom mirror.

 

Mother, daughter.

 

Wordless, standing.

 

 

This poem was inspired by the Tweetspeak Book Club featuring Megan Willome’s new title,”The Joy of Poetry.”  Writing for life is so much better in community~Will you be our poetry buddy?

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