She Noticed

She paused mid-cut and asked about my stress.

I said yes. She nodded, kept her pace—

but moved to the temples with a gentleness

I hadn't asked for, working the same space

twice, maybe three times. The comb, the crown,

the careful arc around what wasn't there.

I watched my face in the mirror, the bright down-

light catching everything. My hair,

or most of it. We talked about the cold

front moving in. The usual.

Her hands were kind in the controlled

way that means: I see this, I'll be careful.

She swept the cape off. You look good, she said.

I tipped and left. Checked the mirror in my car.

Same face. But named now, almost. The thread

of what she saw—I still don't know how far

she followed it before she stopped.