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"Why cut your hair?" It is so heavy, so long it's a hindrance to sitting. Up, it brings headaches. Down, it's a tangle and no one but me to brush it out. No one lifts it but me, no other hands hold it. Braided, I'm a matron; knotted, a librarian. Some other woman or child, bald from illness and its cures, will carry it with more grace, more gratitude. It will grow back. There was blood on the garden stones this morning. Some songbird, caught in the talons of a kestrel? The garden is blooming: yellow columbine, blue Chinese delphinium, purple allium, coral bells, a hundred small white flowers on the wild geranium. I am sixty; I try to stand up straight. I try to hold my head high. It's heavy. -- ~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^=