Father's Image

My dense brow, cursed hairs
dark with your DNA.

I sit, stare, dare not pluck
a single follicle.

I see the blatant looks;
they don’t ask, but I know

secretly they wonder
why the girl with wild brows

would keep them. But you know,
wherever you may be.

You’ll see my sacrifice:
fashion for loyalty,

looks for love.