The Hair Cut

She saw the face of her protector still
Where I just saw an old man's wrinkled brow
“Not a line in his face and hair that’s full”
To me an old man’s scalp exposed to sun.
She loved him in a way a daughter would
I loved him as a sanctu'ry from dad
She had some sixty years of mem’ries build
Into this tender moment on his porch:
To cut his hair and throw the residue
to meld with earth and feed the fig trees so
birds could feel his pride at being flattered so
And eat some fruit and leave a few for me
to pull from Adam’s apron, wash and chew.
I see her love in me as I shave now.

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