Haircut

tears in her eyes, she stands in the midst of a pile of black whisps, curling around her wide, brown feet with chipped polish on the toes. grieving her misguided decision wrought not so much from poor decision but lack of decision altogether.
why did you do this, elliana? what were you thinking when you cut your hair, baby?
few things garner her more favor than her hair. but here we are. and it is damaged.
i wonder if she meant for that? deep, deep down?
at its end though, the truth is she was curious and wanted to feel what it would be like to cut it. curiousity overcame gratitude.
so it is when i fall, 'arar.
curiousity eclipsing gratitude.
i gather her in my arms and she says she's sorry and she will not do it again.
and she won't. "but i will," i think.
i will sacrifice those things i'm most grateful for in coherent moments to the curiousity of a fruit.
the good news has me coherent more and more though. as much as i give myself over to it. and i am curious less and less about all that poison fruit.
i tell her that i know it's hard and that i know she is sorry and that she's forgiven.
words i've heard so well and often that i can repeat them like breath.
and there will be growth where there was shame.
and there will gratitude renewed where there was vanity.
and sometimes it's good to stand in the midst of evidence of 'arar and cry out and be held. ararat