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Katherine Hoerth

My Mother's Hair Is Falling Out

I comb my hair; a couple strands fall out.
Sunlight illuminates the flecks of gold.
This isn’t something I should cry about— 
 
like the rising oceans or the drought
halfway across the world. I try to hold
this grief within my belly. Hair falls out— 
 
old strands must die so that the new can sprout.
I think about my mom, how she unfolds
her thinning ponytail. This is about
 
my ailing mother, seeing her without
her mane of femininity, rolled
and curled across her shoulders. Hair falls out.
 
Her hair has given way to scalp. No doubt
one day my golden hair will when I’m old.
This isn’t something we should cry about— 
 
her hair, my hair, and you,—we’re all en route
to that same place: the drain, the comb, the cold
earth. My mother’s hair is falling out.
It’s something I can’t help but weep about.

Katherine Hoerth
Katherine Hoerth is the author of five poetry collections, including the forthcoming Flare Stacks in Full Bloom (Texas Review Press, 2022). She is the recipient of the 2021 Poetry of the Plains Prize from North Dakota State University Press and the 2015 Helen C. Smith Prize from the Texas Institute of Letters for the best book of poetry in Texas. Her work has been published in numerous literary magazines including Atticus, Valparaiso Review, and Southwestern American Literature. She is an assistant professor at Lamar University and editor of Lamar University Literary Press. 
Art: Evening silk, Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad
  
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