About a week ago I had my waist-length hair cut. The stylist took measurements beforehand, because I wanted to donate to Locks of Love if I could. He measured 30 inches overall, and he cut off 13 inches.
What freedom.
Of course we can construe all kinds of symbolism in my act. I mean, as you might know, my soon-to-be-ex husband was keen on long hair, and although many men and women were keen on my hair being long, it was for my (soon to be ex) husband that I kept it long.
I was always wearing the damn stuff clipped up, off my neck and out of my face. Looking very much like the old-timey stereotype librarian. Looking fraught and frumpy.
After my cut, I posted a photo on Facebook, and I just heard from a good friend that he’d had a strong response to the photo. Here’s the photo, and below it is a poem he sent me. The photo did not directly inspire the poem, but it sure fits my circumstances.
reopen the wound
and give your blood a place
to renew itself
i have a sword
and it calls to you
to fall upon it in exctasy
it assails
the gates of the goddess
knowing me too well
is like russian roulette
for your pussy
the sword is sharp
always ready to cut
a paper thin opening
of eve’s old wound
to speak to her
face to face
bite the apple and finally know
who she is
djones 2009