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 ...
Women's Spiritual Poetry