haircut
last night, strands of hair sprouted to the middle of my back. I cursed it. I wished it’d flush itself away or wrap around my chest. my mother loved it. I was her rapunzel. she could finally braid it again like the third grade when she’d wind it around her finger like a spindle. when I cut it, she cried as if I’d stolen from her, but my hair, still, was too long. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but the black nubs stayed stuck to the rim of the sink, glued there by her tears.
Clarissa Goh is a senior at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City, UT. She is pursuing an Honors BS in Biochemistry with minors in Physics and Creative Writing. Her poetry has appeared in the Seven Canyons Review. She works as a tutor and bioinorganic chemistry researcher, and plans to apply for MD-PhD programs after graduating. In addition to poetry, she is passionate about science, teaching, making music, and creating visual art.
