My Sister’s Hair
i
While Bud parked his white-walled Chevy,
waited nervously
before our father’s silent disapproval,
I watched you
make magic with your hair.
I put lipstick in your purse;
you enticed a perfect sable sweep,
upturned at the neck,
from a mass of silver cylinders
bobby-pinned in place.
I saw a movie star,
properly puffed and sprayed,
waltz into the summer night.
ii
On that autumn afternoon
with every hair in place,
perfectly set
like your resolute face,
you spoke of doctors.
I marveled at brave words flowing
like locks loosened in the wind.
My own scalp crawled.
Later, I witnessed your tears
and strength
drop to the floor
in a winter morning ritual
of thick black clumps.
I said,
I’ll help you buy new hair.
iii
On this spring day I see the woman
make magic with your newest hair.
She gently cuts away
the lingering threads
of old hope,
too sparse for bobby pins
or keeping,
gives you back
an image of yourself.
Now, my mind
is not on lipstick.
I do not look up to you
but straight ahead.
Our eyes meet in the mirror;
you ask me for advice.
© Eileen Trauth
Eileen Trauth is a poet, playwright, author, and former college professor. She has published several nonfiction books. Her poetry appears in her debut chapbook, Ordinary Time (Kelsay Books, 2023), in print and online poetry journals, and in several anthologies. Eileen is a member of the Greater Cincinnati Writers League, the Ohio Poetry Association, and Fourth Friday International Poetry Group. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her spouse, Kathy Driehaus. www.eileentrauth.com.
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