by Judith Strasser


Radiation, that mad barber,
rasps an uncertain razor
across her nape.

The hairline will never

Years later, a new lover
will stroke her thinned triangle.
He will want to disappear
in the thicket
he pictured before
they stripped.

What can she do
with disillusion?
She will kneel
on the bed, bend
her head,
reveal devastation,
brush her living hair
across his coat of fur.

Originally published in
The Ledge, Spring-Summer 2005