Blowout

Wren loves this tidbit of knowledge

His mirth when he shared it with me

Uproarious

Cackling with glee, he said

“One day humans will evolve

To have no hair”

It sounds plausible

But I haven’t fact checked it

Mostly because he enjoys it so much

I don’t want to know if it’s false

Dutifully correcting him

Would feel like a betrayal

Our wooly covering is practical

(It gets really cold here)

Grateful I’m sure, the ancestors were

For the evolutionary advantage

But now, in the time between metamorphoses

A curious affectation

Elevating beauty and worth

Myth conjoins worth with inches

Samson’s power residing

In his luscious locks

Rendered weak in its absence

The women I know

(Including myself)

Cut our mane

When grief hits like a tidal wave

When the rug is pulled

From beneath our feet

Loves lost, lives redirected

An inner pull most compelling

We sacrifice length in tribute

On the altar of change

Supplicants praying for release

From weighty emotion

Billion dollar industry sells us

All manner of products

To shape and tame

Riotous curls, frizz and dander

Limp strands, greying temples

Our coiffure always in revision

The other day I had my hair ‘did’

(Fun slang for a hopeless world)

Des straightened my fluffy tresses

Days afterward; so many compliments

Appearance reworked

Into Western ideals

It cannot hold for long, this living sculpture

Washing is required

I must revert back to my Arab roots

To stave off an itchy scalp

Older men say to me

“You’re so exotic”

Meant as a compliment

Yet offensive

To be seen through this filter

Taking for their own pleasure

Without recognition of my power

I have always felt like an other

Enkidu and Shamhat rolled into one

Part wild creature; communing with animals

And part holy seductress

Educating my other half

How to move through

The spheres of men

One day I will be an elder

Only short, white remnants will remain

Of my glorious crown

I will long for the days

When my mop had substance

But also, then

Nothing will obscure your view

Wit and grace will be easy to see

Strength resides within

Culture’s keepers

Who hang out on benches

Watching the women walk by