Only One Hat Fits
by Brenda Davis Harsham

I try on hats,
in stores by the dozen,
but only one fits
my too-big head.
I wear it hiking
by millponds, up hillsides,
along ridge trails
and into the cloud bank.
The tight weave
keeps my face
from burning red
and the brim hugs without
headaches.
I walk cracked sidewalks
pushing a stroller
stocked with every wipe
and diaper cream.
My daughter’s curls bounce,
her feet kick and she sings
to herself. And me.
My hat brim gets dark,
then darker.
My daughter grows out
of her stroller,
and we sell it on craigslist.
I feel a pang for its loss.
I explore disc golfing
in a hat, slam into low
branches. Stuffs into
a backpack, so light.
My hat brim stains darken.
I try on hats again.
No other hat fits
my too-big head.
I can’t give up my
favorite…