The Silver One

I saw it this morning in the mirror above my temple.

One strand, coarser than the rest, simple

enough to ignore but I couldn't.

I pulled it out before I understood

what it meant—that my body is finally

saying what I've been trying not to admit.

One hair doesn't seem like it should matter.

But it does. It scatters

the idea that I'm the same as I was,

that time is something I can put on pause.

I held it between my fingers.

The light caught it. A signal, a messenger

from somewhere inside me

telling me everything is changing

and I'm not ready for it.

I threw it away.

Then I looked in the mirror again,

hopping there would be more,

hopping this wouldn't be a secret

just between me and my reflection.

But it was just the one.

Just that one small announcement

that I'm done.

That I'm becoming someone else

and I have no choice in it.