do you

{ ah goodwill :: photo by candi mandi }

do you see
me?

today a man said good day and told me i am a very intelligent young woman. this is to me a Christmas present as much as the Fannie May chocolates and snowman ornaments i've received from more ambitious patients. a few words can wilt or nourish me.

another man hung on my smile (for i rarely give them out) and since he is hard of hearing, my smile reached him before my voice did. his eyes lit up like a child's. merry Christmas, he said. happy new year.

all i can see out the 2-inch piece of window {through the waiting room, through its window, across the hallway and stairwell and there's my view of the world 8 hours a day} is white. more snow and the wind that gives my city its name are blurring the sky, scaring the old people from driving, creating great blank voids, and making us new.

yet another man is bent with age, stooped with years and the burden of a nagging wife { none of us could know everything about one another }. 200 flights have been cancelled at o'hare, she repeats after the news anchor. what is she wearing in her ears? my god, she mutters, disgusted. i have no doubt the world is a strange place for these people, with its belligerent youth and brazenly adorned spokespeople. i finger my own earlobes and briefly wonder what she may think of me. i pause, tilt my head to the side, and realize i don't care. this is a liberation.

an awkward girl { unusual for typically chatty hairdressers } snipped 6 inches off my hair last night. when i stepped down from the chair, i waded through a sea of glossy clippings, so recently attached to my head, soon to be thrown away. if i had a huge locket, i'd collect some and keep it; those clippings are 6 months of my life. their tips hold the smell of summer nights. they've been tossed by the wind and the momentum of my anger. they've been the fragile string for the rarest pearls { my tears }. my hair has been with me in a way no other thing has. it protects my neck; it shields my face; it is the primary source of any allure i claim.

perhaps it's just as well i allow it to be cut and thrown away; my head feels years lighter. i can't quite shake the feeling i've lost something --- but i've also gained an emptiness { is that possible, to gain an emptiness? } and made room for more summer, more wind, more of the slow making of tears.

what are you holding onto
that you'd like to see fall to the floor,
swept away, and left behind?

a new woman
poised for new growth,
---she.