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
Death,
Dreams,
Bad philosophy,
Mistakes,
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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