the virgin mary cuts my hair

by Dan Flore

I never looked in the mirror to see what her name was
but the way she leaned over me made it seem like she was hovering
she should have been dressed in a shroud of gold
not her gap sweater
though it smelled an apple orchard
her long streak of brown hair
hung in my face and as I looked into the easy current of her eyes
she talked of how everyone wants to see her and her boyfriend at
Christmas time
and I came in from the street
dirty and ragged
it was still daytime but my eyes were somewhere in the night sky
as I rested my head in her sink
her little fingers slowly rubbing in the shampoo
the pop music on the radio melted into a hymn
and all I could do was stare up at the fluorescent light above her
like a man looking at the sun for the first time