Email Poem

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Poem



born with  hair slightly wavy as
summer sea's crest, Mom would
treat it as her morning decor ritual---
ponytailed, pinned at the crown with 
zigzag of ribbons, braided two-ways,
and god knows what arrangements
followed--oh yes, the old maid bun!

jet black , it flowed down past shoulders;
the envy of high school.girls as we
started to soiree and party...like so,
by 2000, my lattice of curled tresses
met its waterloo: silky, straight locks 
invaded mod media, downgrading
my status as a hometown freak...
my Nicole Kidman jive looking  passe!

I remember fanatically calendaring 
regular visits to a stylist-- a rite abhored
in young adolescence... 
yes, magic of fad  can be done; 
from brazilian rebond, collagen tweaks, 
highlights in tints of raspberry or maze
and more top shot brouhahas just
to be part of the scene!

yet, few seasons back, i  began missing
myself... though shoulder length
locks inhabited me; i grew forlon, empty.
Imagining how Mom ran her fingers
down my  young hair, I chose to let
 my tresses flow without restraint--- 
jet black even through  bright hues
of moonlit passages and 
dawn's sequined, golden rise.

now.   air- tossed,  wind blown, 
hand- caressed, aloe- rinsed 
with few organic whips,
I sweep my hair 
in its free flow movement --
allowing the me to be the natural
woman I am.

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