Hair Poem # 2
Holly Day
​
I put my finger in the bathroom drain and
a few strands of long, blond hair came loose
when I pulled. It was my hair, the way it looked
before chemo took it all away.
 
I wrapped the thin, golden strands around my fingers
held my hand up to the light. They were perfect
no gray, no split ends, as if
they had known I was going to lose it all
and fell out voluntarily, before the hospital
so I could have one last look.
 
I pressed the strands to my scalp
and held them there, willing them to take root and spread
grow thick and lustrous like a shampoo model’s hair
like the curly blond wig hanging from the bathroom door
like I have when I close my eyes and pretend
I’m not sick.