Not for the first time, a single, brown hair drifts into the hinge of her glasses.

The two plastic ends meet.

Clinging together, they strangle the hair.

It snaps off.

The girl pushes her glasses up her nose,

readjusting.

In the shower, water splatters the white tiles

as she washes her hair.

The shampoo scrubs away the dirt and more.

Long dark strands of hair tangle around her fingers.

They streak down the tile like thick rivers,

too thick, too much hair.

Her eyes drift over the mirror

not looking long,

not seeing the scalp peaking through.

But as she turns the corner, she sees the wall through her hair,

blue paint.

A soothing blue

that amplifies the calm buzz of the razor.

Buzz buzz, like a lazy fly on a hot summer day.

“Are you sick?”

***

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Poetry

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