It started small:
Hiram’s church-going shirt left untucked,
My dirty hands at suppertime.
Then we got bold:
Sneaked a piece of cooling pie,
waded deeper in the stream
than Pa allowed.
Somehow Hiram rarely caught trouble.
That smile of his softened Ma.
Pa, grateful for extra hands,
overlooked the times Hiram forgot to milk,
misplaced the saw,
dropped his boot in the creek.
I thought of something he wouldn’t dare do.
“Get Ma’s scissors
and meet me out back.”
It was just the two of us behind the soddy,
but I leaned in close.
“Cut some of my hair.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Why’d I want to do that?”
“Afraid Ma will notice?” I sang.
“Worried Pa will tell you
to wait for him in the barn?”
“You’re daring me?” he asked.
“I am,” I said.
That was enough to stir him.
And when he grabbed at a braid
and the scissors snapped,
I scooped it up,
a four-inch rope of brown hair.
Swishing it under his nose, I told him,
“You’re going to get it tonight.”
That smile of his lit up his face.
“Don’t I know it.”
I swatted at him with the braid,
yelled, “I’m showing Ma!”
and ran.