by Jane Attanucci
My yoga teacher says to notice
the space between my right earlobe
and right shoulder, left earlobe and left shoulder.
--my hair is clipped so close to my head,
I’m all but bald.

I trace a line from the top of my head through
the roof of my mouth
down to my tailbone.
Dreaded pixie cut of my youth,
I feel my cheeks flush.

I stand fingertips reaching,
raised eyebrows and spreading collar bones.
My shoulder blades settle.
This haircut conjures terrors, I have
thus far, been spared.

Beneath my exposed scalp,
I turn inward and silence
familiar sirens.
Mountain on a cloudless day,
feet rooted.

Jane Attanucci has poems published in Halfway Down the Stairs, Off the Coast, The Quotable and Right Hand Pointing, among others, and forthcoming in the Pittsburgh Poetry Review. Her chapbook, First Mud, (finalist in the Blast Furnace Contest, 2014) was released by Finishing Line Press (2015). She lives in Cambridge, Mass.

© 2017, Jane Attanucci