Tonight's Poet Corner: Personal Stylist

Personal Stylist
by Belinda Roddie

She snipped the stranded strands
of my faded silver hair
with her tiny rose gold scissors

and the sliding metal sound
sent a chill like a locomotive
rolling, rickety, down my spine.

I hadn't gotten a haircut
from anyone else
in well over fifteen years,

which made sense, given that
no one else would sneak soft
kisses on the nape of my neck

at a professional salon.



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