Eating My Hair

 

Let the wind have it’s way.

It forces me to eat my hair, which I am growing

because parts are all different lengths

and I want them to be the same.

My hair is not there yet 

(so I eat it, in the wind)

but close enough that I am pleased.

Let the wind have it’s way

I shove my hair behind my ears again and again

and endure it, on my way to the hospital.

 

There is a woman with long hair wearing a baseball cap

I see her

her hair isn’t in her mouth.

I could wear a baseball cap, if I had one.

I could put my hair into a ponytail

most of it would stay in.

I could have done this, but

my brain is so stuffed with fog and dust

I’m lucky if I make it out of the house to the hospital.

Anyway, when I lie on the table 

I’d have to take the ponytail holder out and give it to someone

because it would hurt, under my head,

and I already have to turn my neck in a twisty way

that’s bad enough.

But the technicians are there and always take my glasses from me

so, a ponytail holder. You see? I could do it.

You see? Dust.

 

Dust, sawdust, cat fur tumbleweeds,

I haven’t brushed the cat in awhile.

Sawdust and fog.

I’m not supposed to be so tired yet

it’s supposed to happen after I finish

after they punch my radiation coffee card 15 times.

Am I tired, exactly? Dull? Slow?

The woman in the baseball cap would know,

and the wind.

If I see her again I will ask her.

The wind has no time to speak to me

it is busy having its way, bending what it wants to bend

blowing an empty coffee cup down the block

disengaging cherry blossoms here and there.

 

The baseball cap, the ponytail, 

the cherry blossoms, the fog.

So far I make it out of the house each afternoon

I eat my hair, or not

I think I should buy a baseball cap

the fog, the hair, the dust 

the wind, the punch card.