You lift a t-shirt over your head
sit pale and bare-chested
while I stand behind the kitchen chair
plugging in the electric shaver
The decision is final
the bags and boxes are packed
Who will cut your hair after this
I don’t know
The familiar whir fills the silent room
my hand smooths over your balding scalp
I shear the sides in the conventional style you like
No other way seems possible now
that smooth, dark locks have turned
to rough, short pepper
I adjust the blades subconsciously,
knowing so well the space around your ears
around your temples and across your neck
where a shaggy field now sprouts
Places I once kissed with tenderness
now distant lands, both familiar and foreign
Cut hair falls down your back to the floor
I brush it from you quietly, concentrating
on each slow, final movement
You say a quiet thank you
walk to the shower alone
as I sweep the kitchen floor
and empty what remains