Hair

I always want to fall asleep in the barber’s chair
each time I’m getting my hair cut.

I don’t know whether that trait sets me apart from
others, nor whether masculine  or feminine quirk

because I’ve never heard anyone else  talk about it
and to be honest with you, I have just now broached

this subject with myself, so I have an open mind.
But I have always been like this, wanting to nod off

as soon as the barber begins the little acts that will
relieve me of my excessive hair. It is all about hair,

you see, and that I find it highly relaxing when someone
is manipulating my hair in any way – combing, brushing,

moving it to or fro. A scalp massage could be enough
to induce a coma. No doubt this idiosyncrasy,

if that is what it is, has its roots in childhood,
and perhaps I was a twiddler, one who found that

playing with one’s own curls would bring on sleep;
or perhaps its origins are in Mother’s hands

soothing away my fear of the dark with a hand
that instilled calm by stroking my hair in the fright

of night. This desire to have my hair played with
means not only that having my hair cut is never

a disagreeable interlude, but it also suggests something  
about how tactile I am and how deep-rooted in all of us

is our universal need  to touch and be touched.

© Copyright, 2012, Glen Sorestad.
All rights reserved.