Well-Meaning Friends - Jan 26 2024

 

Well-Meaning Friends

Jan 26 2024

At first, they come away with the comb

and you don’t even feel it,

clogging its teeth with each swipe,

brushing them off your shoulders

with the back of a hand

like sweeping dandruff away.

Then clumps and swathes

and whole geographies;

thinned

      . . . mottled

             . . . bald.

A smooth scalp.

A fresh start

smooth as a baby's bottom.

Which wasn't so bad,

could have been a fashion choice.

People even wanted to touch it,

like patting the stomach

of a mother-to-be.

But the eyebrows also went,

and one morning

the lashes were gone.

This is what the movies miss,

the well-meaning friends

who shave their heads

in sympathy.

Yes, eyelashes catch dust,

react

like cat's whiskers.

But eyebrows don't just protect the eye

they make us human.

Who knew that without them

expression flattens

emotion drains,

that even in the bathroom mirror

you aren't yourself.

There’s a disconcerting distance

to that mask-like face;

not just ambiguous

inscrutable

impassive,

but an absence

as if a part of you had gone.

Detached

like having a foot in the grave.

Like everything bad

it happens gradually

then fast.

But you get used to it.

And just think of the advantages.

The cute wool cap.

No need for hair product

or fussy coiffure.

The receding hairline

you're no longer trying to hide.

Not to mention

that mere vanity

isn't what it used to be

in the time before.

Not now, in the after

you can't control.