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.