Me, [un] Braided
by Barbara Simmons
Mornings meant braids, my hair divided into
three long pony tails, right side, left side, middle,
being undered and overed by mom’s fingers,
caught by rubber bands, concealed by plaid ribbons
matching whatever I’d be wearing.
Neat. Tidied up, braided, ribboned, bowed,
no hair flying in my face:
contained.
I remember saying goodbye to braids,
graduating to pony tails, one long streaming motion
much like wings on Achilles’ heels,
liberating me from barrettes that kept me kempt,
permitting unruly to be all right.
Later, I would brush my hair, long and wild,
imagining a halo round my head swirling,
circling, wildly catching everything from snow to pollen,
all the seasons in every follicle,
until I heard my mother say unkempt,
my hair all tangled, snarled,
her words upbraided me,
sent me to shears, the sheer freeing
cutting all that hair off, heard me say yes
and yes and yes again to being shorn and edged.
Gone was long hair. I would slowly learn
to plait the many strands
I needed to become my braided self,
without my mother’s help,
without her ribbons, without her rules,
but always with unraveling possibilities.
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wonderfully stated..... and so relatable....a delightful and thoughtful read!
ReplyDeleteLove it. I wrote a poem on a similar theme about my childhood ringlets! Strange how we carry these things with us!
ReplyDelete