Like myriads of small pigs’ tails or corkscrews
It flies free and unfettered
Like two-foot long strands of copper
The texture of silk.
Each handful is as light as a feather
And wraps itself like cobwebs about her face,
Sticking to her lips and eyelashes
As if claiming them as its own.
She closes her eyes,
Letting the wind
Brush her hair with its gentle fingers.
Frankie’s Coffee Shop