Hair Care
Luke’s Gospel assures that
Even the hairs of your head are numbered.
I think of my mother,
coppery rivulets of dye pooling in the wrinkles of her face
as the colour ‘took’ under a tin- foil cap.
Visitors at the gate, a hullabaloo of bamping car horns,
my mother ducking her head in a bucket of water,
towels daubed with peroxide, kicked out of sight.
I think of old women, with old men’s faces,
sparse patches of hair thinned with alopecia,
or young women’s heads cropped close before the chemo
and the bald white dome.
God of emergent stubble and frail feathery strands,
have mercy.
God of young girl’s heads streaked cerise and turquoise
keep vigilant when the dye job goes wrong.
God of bob and pixie, of mullet and fade, perm and highlights
look after all those handsome Turkish barbers
who set up in Irish towns, their salons decorated with pictures of Izmir,
the Blue Mosque, the Grand Bazaar.
Protect the black sheen of their hair from all that encroaches to turn it grey.
God of youngsters on work experience
who sweep up the wet, spiky trimmings, deliver on their dreams of better.
Margaret Galvin is an Irish poet and memoir essay writer who lives in Wexford. She has published six collections of poetry and prose, lyrical narrative in style. She was awarded the Francis Ledwidge Poetry Award 2025. Her essays are frequently broadcast on national radio in Ireland, particularly in a programme called ‘Sunday Miscellany.’ She holds a degree and a Masters in Social Care and works as a creative writing facilitator for supported groups in cancer care, enduring mental illness and disability.
Amethyst Review 