poem: each strand and her friends

each strand comes out, stronger and brighter than before
she makes new friends, and loses hundreds throughout the day too
each strand blossoms and beckons to be seen
my little flower blossom on my head
my taking up space through my cascading friends

each strand feels the pain of the day, of the months before and
the ones that are soon to come
they will only leave me when they are ready to die
so that others may be reborn

and underwater, like anemones and their gentle sway
without a care and care-free
god, as a woman, knows that this is their purpose on this earth
to be fertilized on a growing and precious head
from keratin and collagen
I am so lucky to have them here with me
after they had left me for a time
when I felt so unlike the woman I used to know
big, poofy dyed black hair
shes coming back to me and she feels the horizon

because she is so sensitive she cant pass it up
this opportunity for her to be dramatic and plentiful
I will plop her on the grass
and let the wind raise her high
I will be there when she is low, when she is losing touch again
but I will always be there

nevertheless