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.