She begins to gather her hair,
making sure not to miss
a single fiery tendril and
secures the strands with
her favorite yellow hair tie
that she can wrap around
her thin stream of hair
nearly four times.
She’s afraid
The worn circlet of elastic
Might snap soon.
The widening yellow band
has known six years
of hairstyles:
the super high tail
worn while cheerleading
back in high school
that waved like a flag while
jumping in unison into the splits-
the tie off to the side
of the base of her neck
holding back her perfectly curled twists
for her first date with her
future husband-
the sensible low tail
that she wore to the job
she hated
as a librarian
because it was not what she wanted to do.
She wanted to write.
The glued in place up-do
She wore to her wedding.
Her mother cried
Because of how beautiful she looked.
The first time
he didn’t show
to the poetry reading
she worked
so hard to get into.
The late nights of
being tied in a messy, asymmetrical bun
when he claimed to be
working late
but she knew he was with someone else.
To now,
when she is leaving him
with her hair half up.
But as she gathers
her hair one last time,
the bind snaps.
Instead of searching for another
she decides
to let her tresses
flow, cascading down her back.