French Bob

In the late 1890s, fashionable 
Filipina or not, likely you sported a head-
ful of long, flowing tresses. The daughters

of ilustrados put theirs up with tortoiseshell
combs or filigreed paynetas, while the women
who did your laundry let dark waterfalls of hair 

cascade over their shoulders while they beat 
wet bedspreads on river rocks. Lengths long
enough to brush the floorboards, to move 

like another layer over a many-paneled 
skirt. Until, across the ocean, women sheared
the centuries away with scissors, revealing

not just a face but cheekbones. Your hair-
dresser suggests a French bob—a cut 
that hits at the jawline, just enough

layers to add texture to thinning 
hair and a look that says tousled, 
effortless, undone. Clippings 

gather at the base of the chair 
as she works, each strand lifting 
a weight you barely even noticed

before. But that sounds about right:
first the loss, then the feeling of air
moving freely across your nape again.