By John Mamas
“I won’t cut it again,”
You proclaim in a tornado-haze
As I cry over these void locks
Braided crow feathers and black silk.
When your hair hit your ears,
We had only just met
Under the lustful yellow lights,
I had first felt intimacy from a man
Your forearm holding my back so tight
I felt us becoming one.
When your hair hit your chin,
We had been falling for the idea of love
When you passed me down the hallway,
I was “my handsome” and “my boy.”
Our eyes interlocked in the search for meaning,
What it meant to be together.
When your mom asked you about us,
You shaved your head in the shower
You let go of what you were,
And took on what she wanted of you.
My glances left unmatched,
I slipped notes through locker 1884.
Now you are seated, shaving your head,
I kneel down at your pelvis
Hands clasped, wishing upon Juno
To send us into the stars
Where your cascading hair blends into the—
universe, and our eyes create constellations.