Hair Is
mary winters
(After reading I Corinthians 13, 1-13)
If I have many profound, deeply affecting talents
but have not hair, somewhere,
even just a little bit,
maybe only three hairs left on my balding head
or the faintest bit of whitish down
evident only in brightest sunlight
to my very dearest friend,
then I am completely bankrupt --
it's hopeless, I can forget it.
Hair tells the weather; hair mats to frighten dogs;
it will not take no for an answer.
Hair brings home the bacon; it is never bossy.
Hair laughs and cries; hair likes to travel;
also being flattened out in bed.
Hair reaches out to other hair,
it reveals our most subtle and
our most blatant moods, it is single-minded.
Hair would vote Democratic;
it can readily interpret a trend;
it savors the dreadful smell it makes when burning.
Hair is all things to all people.
When I was a child, I was in full support of
hair's cunning placement on my body.
But now I understand that hair has
an agenda, a plan, a destiny:
to get dark and thick and wiry,
to intoxicate and lure,
to turn this way and that in the wind,
to pull energy direct and unceasing
from the center of the world,
also from the void, and
to gather hands unto it.
So now we see -- fresh, healthy breath and gums,
regularly trimmed nails, and
the absence of ear wax will serve,
but the greatest of all is hair.
