The Grey Hair

by Renwick Berchild

Single silver,
Your shining countenance tells a long tale.
Your glow in the streetlight sings a song.

Hospital visits, sleepless nights,
Mornings flipping eggs and
Ballpoint pens scribbling
Bad philosophy,
That day you flopped over the dog’s leash and
Split your nose open on the pavement;
The days you ditched school and
Snoozed in the soccer fields and read James Patterson;
The hour you told yourself
You couldn’t go on another minute without her loving you;
That day you ran away from home,
And never went back;
The time your friend called you up and told you
She wanted to kill herself;
That half-second before a fist plowed into your face
And the wicked red line that now graces your sclera;
A repeating vision of your dead grandmother, in a casket;
A cherry blossom on a winter night.

Lone silver,
Your body arcing in the wind.
Inside you is every emotion I have ever felt. You hold

Too many. Too many. Too many.
You are a brittle and worn thing on this
Youthful head of chestnut brown.

How happy I am
To have you here with me, bright and white and beaming.

2 Comments to “The Grey Hair”

  1. A Wonderful Perspective to aging…ugh LOL 🙂

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