AN OLD WOMAN’S HAIR

Once upon a time

My hair rippled

And glistened in the sun

And swung from side to side

With the flippancy of youth.

What remains, lank and thin

Is not my hair, my mane.

This is a charade

Of what once was

A dastardly trick played by time.

No barrette strains to hold my tresses.

Clips slip, fall away and are lost.

Ribbons, too, fail to stay in place.

Scarves and hats may hide

But never replace what once was.

The thick, richness of yesteryear.