Purple, Curly, Frizzy
Silver streaked with light purple, curly, frizzy cloud halo I’d only learned to love post menopause.
Neighborhood kids bullied me as a child, said I looked electrocuted,
that I’d stuck my cuticle bitten fingers into a light socket, and they called me “poof”.
It was auburn when I was young, tight ringlets, that still make women ask, “Is it natural?”
I didn’t know they were envious for years to come.
My curly Jew haired family was called “The Bad Hair Club” behind our backs
by a flaxen haired bird-like woman who called herself my friend.
In my forties, I found the ethnic product counter, pommades and goos that tame frizz,
played up curls; it was incredibly long when it was wet.
When gray and silver took over my head, I experimented with burgundies, and plums,
and deep royal purples, until finally settling on a wash-in color
that left a luscious blend of silvery lilac.
Compliments flew everywhere I went, stores, parks, hospitals…
Now, life saving treatments have stolen my sparkly signature coiffure.
Clumps and matted chunks fall away,
This morning, I chopped it short; I felt angry with the matted mess it became everytime
I would pin it up or lay my head on my pillow.
Sunday I will learn to love myself bald as I shave the rest.
It took scores of years to find a love for myself, an appreciation for something in my appearance.
My enchanting silvery, purple hair will be gone,
I will have to love myself without it to survive this.
I reach both hands up to run my fingers through what’s left,
another wistful bunch in each hand slid out easily, with anguish, as my fingers left my scalp.
I swear that it will be beautiful and silvery purple again,
that it will be as full and gorgeous as Life is.
- Hopefawn Levenson Robertson
