This hairbrush gathers
memories like moss.
A neural pathway
of silver strands woven
between plastic prongs
fires impulses across
synapses, connecting
to our pasts -
the matted hair of a
doll left out in the rain,
a warm chlorine foot-bath
to stop the spread
of verrucas,
a hairdryer hood,
a peroxide perm,
in our brains.
Flecks of scalp
cling like chewing gum
to its base,
calling to mind
a roomful of dead
hair and shoes,
billions of cells
we try, but fail
to keep alive.

Jane Salmons

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Jane Salmons would be pleased to hear them.