Little Stray Hair

She had a stray hair that showed up
in the most unusual places. She’d tried to pluck it. But it

popped back up again. She’d tried to bleach it. But it stood out
strong as white against her olive skin. She took a razor

to it and cut herself. The blood ran out. And the very next
day something was sprouting in the same place. So she

tried to conceal wearing turtlenecks. But menopause made her sweat. So she embraced it, even gave it a name. She called

it Bert. It was her little secret. Sometimes she would cut it with a
scissors, if it grew too long. But she became fond of it.  Like a

tattoo she couldn’t imagine life without it.  It was like Cindy Crawford’s mole. After a while it turned beautiful. She grew to love it.