Cutting Hair in the Kitchen

By James Dufresne

The buzzing of the electric clippers
makes me think of my first-generation Dutch
grandmother (we called her Beppa)
cutting the hair of my cousins in the kitchen
at the farm in Western New York.

Far removed from those days. Cousins
now estranged through family feuds,
busy with jobs or school, and
now tending what remains through the ether.
I take out heavy mirrors and try to get my bearings;

In the reflection, left is right, up is down.  I can hear
the thick accent say, "Yimmy! Your turn, Yimmy!"
and the saving graces of my father, who stubbornly
explained to this equally stubborn, weighty queen bee
that our hair was cut back in Connecticut.

The times of the home haircut have returned ---
no need to spend $20 for a man's crew. A few up-swipes
with a No. 2, topped with a No. 6. A touch of the
infamous Dutch thrift carries on in me. And
don't cut hair over carpet. That is what I learned there.