My Hair Is On Fire
April 1, 2013
Shot like a man out of a cannon. My mother almost died giving me birth. Head was too big. Doctors’ thought I might need braces on my neck. Crawled through the first centuries of life. When I was twenty my hair was down my back. Orange and dusty. I felt like a god. Beautiful and outrageously vain. Standing in the Kipling Station. I could have stood there forever. When I stepped on the train I was 40 and everything picked up speed. The last decade has been like a long weekend. My eyes are watering. And my hair is on fire.