Medusa Cuts Her Hair

Something in the curl wants out.

                 *

You think you know something about love,
have a clear idea of your own value.
Then your friends stop speaking
when you enter a room, turn a cold eye
on your antics, your pleas, your parting curse.

                *

Lately, I’ve let myself go.
Strange thoughts spring from my scalp.
They have a life of their own.

I think about striking out, striking back.
I think about curling into a knot,
and never encircling another again.

                *

What is it I keep hearing,
in waking and in sleep?
Little voices, secrets, fears.
Every wish I ever had, every hurtful
word I’ve said.
They do not leave, but hiss in the head,
weaving together until they sprout anew.
There are lies caught in my locks;
memories of happiness, too.

               *

He said he was a hairdresser,
would trim my tresses
by looking into a mirror.
I agreed to keep my eyes lowered.
Think of it; the snip of scissors,
a strange man’s fingers,
oil of aloe, henna, citrus.
Nervous, his limbs jiggled;
I fell in love with his legs
as he circled my chair.

               *

Where is the man who cut my hair?
People tease me, say I’ve lost my head.
Now, the world softens under my stare.


from Orpheus and Company: Contemporary Poems on Greek Mythology, Deborah DeNicola, editor (University Press of New England, 1999)