Hair

I cut your ponytail
That dangled at your back
Like a waterfall crashing down;
Violent and passionate.

It came loose at the
Cold shiver of the scissors
Letting go like a man at the edge of a cliff,
Your blue satin ribbon suddenly lost purpose

It fell your height, all your 5’5
Trying to hold on to the air
But was left with a fraction of air
That settled a whisper on the floor.

Your ponytail, no longer a waterfall
But a landslide; a mass wasting.
I saw death dying
As your pony waned.

After all was said and done,
And I brushed your neck and your shoulders
Which were pricked with parts of a life you once knew,
Small black needles; once a long satin thread.

Your slender neck and their slow movements
Once eclipsed by your black raging river
Now stand pale and shy
A virgin flower.

I turn you around
And hear you say,
“Free”

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i like the metaphor used here...getting a haircut...as we cut away anything that has been an albatross to us...sometimes we have to cut away parts of ourselves to get free to move ahead...mostly our past.
you do it so well here.
unencumbered....
j.

[Paavana Varma]

Thank you!!

[¿]

Haircut in a poetry!!
Girl you nailed it....the way you mixed up things here and that too using an entertaining topic hair is a splendid work!!
Great read😊

[CLR9]

Haircuts are difficult. My dad once tried to cut my head off with a hair clippers. Dang. You're winnerr!