170: Before we grew up

Sun god moon god what does it matter

you still reach out through my bathroom mirror

to trace gold and silver through my hair

then gently rinse

with shampoo and conditioner until my hair falls

like a velvet curtain

swollen with promises yet sleek with denial

and I hide it in a towel and put on my t-shirt

with insignificant designs

and go out on the balcony where the summer breeze cools

all but my hair and you are resting on the railing

like the third brother of Jack Frost and Peter Pan

and the daylight moonlight shimmers in your hair

like laurel wreaths and halos of divinity

while you talk about how you nicked yourself this morning

when you shaved your beard

and just for fun I pull a strand of still-wet hair

from under my towel and plait it and perch it

between my puckered lips and scrunched-up nose

and you nudge me and say that I am not a man, I can still take it off,

but you wake up each morning evening

more of a man than the day before

so I sigh and drop the plait and let my towel down

and wait for the breeze to dry my hair and know

that it is easier for you than me.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: Please note that all poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been seen by our editors, and that the editors have suggested revisions where they see fit, but we believe that it is ultimately the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions and take no responsibility for which suggestions they accept or reject.