Hint & Halo

My mom used to have to corner me
on the bed with a brush:
Tangles, tears — no fun
for either of us.

For years, I didn’t so much as run
a comb through these curls
that used to be longer,
fuller, more lush — in high school
I’d twirl one piece around the rest,
a nest atop my head, a crown
I wore proudly despite
all of the ways I tried to shrink.

Now, streaked more grey
by the day, I wonder in the mirror
where the time went
and other cliches,
my hair a hint at the girl I once was
and a halo of the old woman
I can only hope to become.