Your fingers scrape through my hair
collecting untamed strands.
Pulling, ripping out, and pulling again.
Long strawberry hair missing from the root.
Your fingers unravelling tangles.
Sit still. I don’t want to have to start over again.
There is no gentle. There is only
one slick braid running down my spine.
When I was six my best friend cut my hair.
I don’t know where we got the scissors
or why we thought it was a good idea.
I was too scared to cut her hair
so I pretended.
She cut an “M” in my bangs
because her name started with an M.
She hid a fist full of my hair behind her back
as my mom’s footsteps lingered down the hall
shoving it into her pocket when my mom walked in.
I’ve always found it odd that she left with my hair.
My sister curled my eyelashes
before Christmas pictures.
I was hoping for a little help
with blush and mascara.
It’ll look way better this way.
Just keep your eye open
keeping my eyes open wide as
her plastic Mary Kay curler
clamped down on my hair.
The first eye was fine.
The second eye I blinked.
You’re just being dramatic.
Wait there is blood on the curler.
I think I cut your eyelid.
I don’t curl my eyelashes anymore.