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Long Enough
Last summer, I wore it in a polka dot bandana that I stole from the green room of the theater where at the time I had worked for seven years. The bandana kept the strands in place and out of my eyes, or at least it tried. Sometimes a wisp would just barely escape to endlessly tickle my neck. Last summer, I moved cities. I have so much more to say about this but don’t know where to begin other than to tell you me and the little hair strand I left with were dancing and celebrating our freedom, while still being emotionally (me) and literally (him) tethered to the closeness of the clump of we left behind.
Watch Closely For A Visual Metaphor Of What That Looked Like: https://youtube.com/shorts/6OcsyUSZ89I?feature=share
The summer before last, it was a poofy mop of curls that I couldn’t do shit with. I had to be patient that summer, planted seeds in a community garden, ordered in books, typed my little plays, waited for everything to grow and grow and grow. It was my own doing: the reason my hair was weird as fuck like that was because the summer before that, 2020, I had shaved it all off for 3 week long trip biking and camping trip around the perimeter of Lake Michigan. A beautiful bald summer.
