This is a story my grandmother used to tell about my great-grandmother who had lovely, long, legendary hair. I heard this story over and over as a child, and our family still has Bessie Taylor's braids, which were rediscovered when we moved my grandmother from her nursing home to a rehab center several years ago. But that's another poem...
Bessie's Braids
She used to wash her mahogany hair
in rainwater,
then plait it,
so when it was dry
cascades of waves
flowed down her back.
She kept it long as she could,
but eventually
everyone
had cut theirs,
wondered why Bessie,
the barber's wife,
didn't.
She sat in his chair,
demanded.
Charlie lifted the scissors,
then put his hand down.
He lifted the scissors once more,
put his hand down.
"If you don't do it, I will!"
she looked in the mirror,
looked him straight in the eye.
He lifted his hand a third time.
Two long,
mahogany braids
fell.
No comments:
Post a Comment