Strawberry Blonde
‘What color is my hair, you think?’ she said from the bathroom over the humming fan ‘What?’ she repeated herself he laughed to an empty bedroom and pretended not to hear she came out and stood in the doorway all that skin not dry not wet ‘Someone told me strawberry blonde’ ‘How dare they’ it was her face he thought that looked like a strawberry rosy January cheeks up like the humps of a heart juicy too ‘It’s because it’s winter’ as if winter didn’t count as if she were one of her plants necessitating a certain amount of direct sunlight he looked at the green leaves blooming in the damp basement and he looked at her and thought about how many new leaves will arrive by summer by the time her hair turns back to its sunset yellow he wished to slow it all down trim some nodes to spend more time on the limbs he doesn’t know well enough before new growth comes in ‘Come over here’ so she did sitting on his lap he took her hair scrunched it up on top and kissed her neck until the soft skin was a bothered pink from his beard if you hold something tight enough shave it down and keep its edges just so you will hardly see time unless you stand back see the growth surrounding it, stunted and unchanged sure it is as it was but nothing else is or will be either ‘maybe the strawberry is nice too’
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