When I shaved my beard
The hair fell clumped
Into the bathtub.
She asked me not to clean it.
She swept it into her palms
And took it outside.
She raised it as an offering
And let the wind blow it away.
She cried when it disappeared
Like she does
When she sees a helium balloon
Free and floating up.
I often dream of flying, she said.
But I’m afraid you do, too.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.
