Honey-Blonde
The old barber keeps a lock
of honey-blonde hair in the side,
buttoned pocket of his apron.
Now and then, when the raised chairs
are vacant, and the radio hums
soft jazz he doesn’t hear anymore,
he reaches into that pocket slowly,
closes his eyes. The hair he feels
sliding, slipping across his fingertips
appears in front of him, and he watches
it gradate from sunshine to soft
sidewalk shadows to full moon.
He always imagines, as the oak
lid closes in his closed eyes, that
he’ll hear the door chime open
and lifting his eyelids, he’d see her
walk in the door, radiating sunbeams
and smiling that sweet smile that
once sold him homemade lemonade
in front of his grandmother’s neighbor’s
home, then walked with him under the
weeping willow’s whishing locks into
what he imagined as the rest of his life.
- © Zebulon Huset 2020
Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. His writing has recently appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence, Rosebud, Atlanta Review & Texas Review among others. He publishes a writing prompt blog Notebooking Daily and is the editor of the journal Coastal Shelf.
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