Cyndie Randall


First I found it in the dishwasher
            coiled around the soap dispenser lid
I pinched it and lifted             moved it to the garbage can
            rubbed my fingers together overtop the bag
It landed on the edge
            where it held center like an undecided seesaw
I left it to the breeze of our bodies
I suspect my neglect is how it got out
Next thing I knew
            it was snaked on the side of the milk carton
My daughter was the only witness
Did you pick it off       I asked             No       she answered
            ‘cause my Krispies were gettin’ soggy
Hair was living the good life now
            the sneaky night life
Next morning I saw it again
            balled up on the heel of my sock
                        making love to a piece of lint
A promiscuous little ass he is
Yes      Hair is a he
An egalitarian!            Abolisher of gender roles!
That’s why he went hugging that brush
            on the bottom of the vacuum
My mother told us vacuums could chop off your toes
            but Hair handled my Hoover just fine
This strand did his part and captured his weight in dust
            took the dog for a walk
                        hitched a ride on the saggy skin
                                    that hangs from Happy’s upper lip
Until I pulled, that is               
Happy chomped at the stringy sensation
            tongue lapping at the unseen
Those two were playing and didn’t even know it
After that I carried Hair to the forest floor
            planted him just under the decomposing bark
When we left              the dog’s tail waved goodbye
Right now                   I bet Hair is grinning
            holding together the branches of a robin’s nest or
                        sun bathing on a bed of
                                    newly sprouted grass
Every once in a while
            I think I spot him twirling around in the pasta
Well hi little trickster              I say
Except it can’t be him             can’t be my guy
I cook with my braids tied back                     
Still     I tickle the visitors when they come
            flick them up and away          wish them well
                        send them along in the company
                                    of my microscopic fingerprint
In the beginning          God knew
            it wasn’t good             for hair to be alone
What beautiful thing ever grew
            apart from another thing

Cyndie Randall holds a BA in Creative Writing/Poetry and an MA in Counseling. She works as a therapist and lives in Michigan on land that once belonged to the Potawatomi people. Her words have appeared or are forthcoming in Love’s Executive Order, Boston Accent LitThe Manifest-StationYes PoetryMojave Heart ReviewBarren Magazine, and elsewhere. You can connect with Cyndie on Twitter @CyndieRandall or at