Sauce of tears

Mom cut me bangs once
That were so lopsided
I cried and demanded
The return of the snipped hairs.

“Would you have me glue them
Back again? What is cut stays cut,”
She said, then relented:
“It will grow back.”

All that exasperation
Would be welcome now.
All the attention to mere hairs
That have since grown back,
The inexpert lulling of that
Tearful child with
The best hugs,
An ice cream cone,
The rich promise of
That smile that reassured
Without fail.

The things that are cut
Remain cut.
Some of them grow back.
Some never do.

Acceptance is a dish
Served in a sauce of tears.