One night after dinner,
You took me to the bathroom
To cut my hair.
You perched me up high
On the ledge of the counter
Like a tiny bird teetering loosely
On a marble branch.
We watched my hair tumble deep below my shoulders
Into the white ivory sink.
You told me stories to sooth my anxiety,
Like a mother should,
Of how
Those hairs, now free, would float away to the Arctic
To swim along side penguins,
And others would find their way
To kiss the shores of private beaches on secret
Unknown continents.
But before you could finish
I felt a silver finger
Flick my ear,
Red stained the porcelain
The scissors fell from your
Feminine hands,
Shaking,
All you could say
In a monotone whisper
"I'm going to go have another drink"
And your eyes vanished
To another room.
You left me there with the sink and scissors,
Only for a different kind of rouge--
A wine flavored form of forgiveness,
As my ear continued to bleed.
Author notes
true story.
A contest entry
- All in the family by glennwood.
1500 points, ended November 15, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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Hate the memory for you but you did a marvelous job of painting a picture. The middle lines about the hair going to the penquins were great. Good luck.
Sharon
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Silver Finger
I love the image of the scissors as a silver finger and the uncertainty of feeling at the hurt caused by the mother. Disappointment at the human weakness of the parent leaves a vivid memory on the child.
Not that I'm any kind of expert, but WELL DONE! -
I like this poem about your childhood experience.
It brings imagery and emotion to the reader.
Love your last 2 lines.
Very well done.
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thanks!
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i really, really like this. the strengths of the poem are the lines about where the hair will end up, it's very visual. the contrast to where the hair would go with what actually happened makes this poem all the more emotionally powerful. well done.
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thanks so much tara. I tried to go very Billy Collins with this poem
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wow...honestly...the ending sounds like my mother.
did anyone help you? I wonder how old you were...
see, I love poems that make me want to know more ...someone once told me that that is a sign of a good writer.
great piece...
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aww Thank you so much!!!
I remember jumping down after a while I think. I was about 6.
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I made some changes to the poem and feel slightly better about it.
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