brutus plays the barber
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This blessing started as a curse.
Found its way to the barbershop and lined you up perfectly. Before you even sat in the chair. I did what that intimate touch between you and a longtime friend couldn’t. Both men gentle in this act only. With his fingers off of your temple, there I was. And my sweet razor a small kindness for our inherited face. I, dancing around your jawline. Score our shared mouth and liberate your nape. Most days I want blood, and blood only to use my hands. I don’t get how people can own blood and still want bone and flesh. Today I practiced patience. Knew contentment. Know the wrong breath and then a palm & jaw could both become bathed. When Dad used to cut our hair one after the other, parts of us would fall and collect at his feet into a heap of familiarity. Even then we wished to not be called each other’s. Prettier men have paid for less. |
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Jo’Van O’Neal is a Black poet, content creator, and teaching artist currently based in Newburgh, New York. He is a fellow of The Watering Hole and a Hurston/Wright Foundation workshop Alumnus. In 2018, he was an inaugural Open Mouth Readings Writing Retreat participant.