by Holly Day
After the surgery, my sister came to visit
brought me a box full of wigs. We tried them on
together: the red curly one, the short blond one, the long one
black as coal, looked at our reflections in the mirror
at how different we looked with our new hair.
My husband took me home that night, joked
about all the different women I could be
with my boxful of glamorous wigs, how he
would have to get used to the idea that there
were so many new me’s. I laughed for him
could see some of the tension lift
from the corners of his eyes, told him I was just happy
to be going home.
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...been there too...neat poem...thanks.
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