Seated in a creaky metal chair
- jenminotti
- 4 days ago
- 1 min read
By Sherri Levine
PROMPT—Never will I forget ...
Seated in a creaky metal chair
in front of a large mirror, I watched
the reflection of the Sicilian barber
wave his long black comb
like a conductor’s baton.
I don’t remember music playing
or men in the shop. But I remember
being in a fog, like steam coming out
of our furnace in the winter.
With thick hairy fingers, he snipped
what was left of my long brown hair.
Most of it had already fallen on
my white flannel sheets, in our immaculate
porcelain tub, and into the bristle my brush.
I squeezed my eyes shut and began
floating up-up toward the popcorn ceiling
and stared at the top of the barber’s thick
black waves, then down to my wispy
strands surrounding the chair
on the black-and-white checkered floor.
I imagined my grandfather in
our living room wearing a crinkled
white cotton jacket, rocking me, a child
in my mother’s red padded velvet chair
where she used to braid my hair.
Sherri Levine is a poet, educator, mental health advocate, and squirrel lover living in Portland, OR. She has published three poetry books: Stealing Flowers from the Neighbors (Kelsay, 2021), A Joy to See (Just a Lark Books, 2023), I Remember Not Sleeping (Fernwood Press, 2024), and a forthcoming anthology—Waking in the Blue: Poems & Essays about Mental Health. Please visit her at sherrilevine.com
