Purple, Curly, Frizzy

 

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