My friends are cutting their hair. We're 50ish now,
and I wonder, should I cut mine? My grandmothers
never snipped their covering, but never let it fall free, either,
its weight anchored by hairpins and nets until undone
by their husbands in private moments. They did not roar
into the Twenties, they were not wild, uncontrolled women,
but tended home, children and spouse

much as I do. My daughter and her friends view their locks,
or lack of, as an accessory to match moods, whims
and caprice. (I was impulsive once; my mother said
if God had wished me auburn, He would have divined
it so. And you would not have had to steal your curls
from a box, I smirked.)

At what age should a woman act hers? Is middle age my tresses'
Great Divide? No, I'd rather not let scissors measure
my maturity. I'd miss the sweep across my back; but more than that,
I'd miss the way you muss it as it lies, undone and glorious,
across your pillow.

May 2005