Hair Conditions

 I admit it--I am vain. At the first sign of gray hair, I began visiting Claire, my hairdresser, every six weeks for a "cut and color." Now after a year of cancer treatments, I have very little hair and all of it some shade of gray. It's easy to take care of, and I'm saving on shampoo and conditioner, but I wish it were longer and closer to its previous color.

Of course, aside from washing my face and brushing my teeth, I don't have to look at myself, so it's easy not to think about it. Then yesterday, I got the good news that one of my poems was accepted for publication. The bad news is they want a "head shot."

Which Jane should I send?

Jane of a year ago?

Bald Jane

Turbaned Jane in Chemo?

or fuzzy Jane today?

Which will win out--my vanity or my honesty?

Holy Saturday

What is holy about

this day after disaster

this time of utter defeat

this era of dissolution?

All our energies

our hopes

have been killed--

horribly killed.

We may try to deny

our role in the effort

to erase our fingerprints

to cast blame on others.

We may question

whether it was all worth it

whether what we believed

to be true, was true.

The day stretches out

from Friday's agony

to the utter darkness

of midnight.

But if we can hold on

to one filament of hope

one wisp of belief,

dawn will come

again and again.

 

Reading, Trying to Write, Learning

Once again today I sit down by the window to read What is the Grass by Mark Doty. It’s one of those wonderful books I love to read a little bit at a time because it is so rich, so full of his reflections on Walt Whitman, poetry, life, and the universe. As I read, I write in my journal quotations that move me and what my thoughts are about them.

 Today I wrote the following where Doty reflects on his experience ducking out of the rain in a beach changing shed full of men of various shapes, colors, and ages. He uses the word plethora, but decides...

 “The word I want to use here is pleroma, a Gnostic term for the fullness of all that is divine; it means the totality of God, who is darkness and silence, and only knowable through the aspects of divinity that come into light out of that fecund absence, a ‘space’ that is not a space.”

An old pic when I still had hair

 As I am writing this, Kat jumps on my lap for her regular morning cuddle and examination of my bathrobe for whatever breakfast has been left there. I try to continue my writing holding her and my pen in my right arm. It is not easy, but I continue until she finishes with the bathrobe and decides to start licking my face. Whether this is true affection or mere exploration for treats, I do not know, but it totally prevents me from writing.

 I am annoyed only for a second until I see the truth of what Doty is pointing at. This, this sweet animal, this fellow sharer of the universe, is part of the fullness of all that is divine, not unlike the birds and the squirrels who scurry around the yard. Tears well in my eyes as I recognize the gifts here all around me.

Thank you Mark Doty for leading me there, and thank you Kat for reminding me of all that is divine.