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 with pink rhinestones:
“No Hair Day.”
She paints on eyebrows — an unnatural brown.
She blinks her lash-less eyes.
“Did you just get it cut?” she asks.
“No. I’m just having a bad hair day,” I answer.