incognito stylist
you can never be sure
who's holding the scissors
Perhaps she is new and using someone else's station. Maybe she just graduated from a beauty school. She's got to learn somehow.
trial and error session
my hair
a thousand lengths away
from the picture
in vogue magazine
For some reason, I feel compelled to tell my stylist about the one and only time I tried to cut my own hair.
kid scissors
the jagged ends of summer
have lost their curl
Proud of the results, I went to show mom my handiwork.
"What have you done to your hair.
You've ruined it!"
That was not the response I was hoping for.
She got out her adult scissors and started snipping away to get the hair evened out. By this time, I had just enough hair to cover my ears. Mom was crying. The photographer was coming tomorrow to take pictures.
Morning came. For once, I didn't have to sleep on rollers because there wasn't enough hair to roll. Mom placed a bow in my hair so the photographer would know I was a girl. I didn't really look like a boy or a girl. More like a monkey. One who got into trouble all the time.
photographer
in a black suit
he tells us
to act natural
and say "Limburger."
I was accompanied by my two sisters. The surreal quality of the day reminded me of an episode from The Three Stooges. We had matching bows in our hair all on the same side. While sitting down, we kept elbowing each other to create more space.
a cardinal's song
the red notes soar
beyond our disagreement
**Holiday picture with Grandma Blanche