Sarah Carey is a graduate of the Florida State University creative writing program. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Superstition Review, Potomac Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Valparaiso Review, SWWIM Every Day, Rise Up Review and elsewhere. She is the author of a poetry chapbook, The Heart Contracts (Finishing Line Press, 2016.) She works in veterinary medical communications at the University of Florida.
My father’s dead one year today
and I am keeping my appointments
I’ll be caped and colored cut
recap the reasons I can’t go to grey or ash just yet
remember when my stylist told me
there’d be time for growing out my roots
allowing thick to thrive to throb untamed
at least uncultivated gave a name to it:
wild hair, as if that stage was yet to come
and all my partial foils were an attempt
to bring attention to my dark
layers’ burrow low lights
I’ll say to her, let’s go with the bob
that style we liked that worked for us
most years, that we were slaves to
let’s stay there it feels like home
My father would say we made him gray
but he lost it all in the end
I say keep me in the club of the well-coiffed
slightly teased with all that body
someone could bury their face in