You Got A Haircut
By Maya-Elena Jackson

Nine years ago, I –
With permission from you – danced
While Math the Band played
At Hotel Congress.

Two years before my body
Would turn inside out
And instead of swaying I
would
Press my head against the
Brick and
Wonder
How many magnitudes
of separation there
was
Between the times
your hand had
rested there.

I could have stayed there all night
But
I walked down to
Pennington,
Instead.