When Mom sees me for the first time in six weeks
she cries out, “Your hair! It’s so long!”
I have not cut it for 12 straight months,
from the date she started her first chemo treatment.
Today she is wearing a pink cap.
Pink rhinestones spell out
“No Hair Day.”
She paints on eyebrows — an unnatural brown.
She blinks her lash-less eyes.
“Did you just get it cut?” she asks.
“Yes,” I lie. “I’m just having a bad hair day. It’ll be better soon.”