When my hair was long,
I would watch it split
into snakes in the shower.
The water would flow
just below its surface,
making it dark, giving it movement,
making it crawl up my breasts,
tails flicking across my nipples,
hungry, fighting upstream,
not wanting to let go.
But now my soapy hair
slips through my fingers fast,
like worms that don't want to be held.
Now I look like my mother.
She says short hair
brings out my pretty face.
I tell myself that for awhile
worms will be fine.
But when my breasts turn
into raisins, I will reclaim
my snakes. They will swim
once again, turned silver,
and even hungrier than before.