Red Hair

Red Hair

Dave Neita

red hair coded in my genes, a mere strand of my identity, but a discord of difference to my peers

they taunted, insulted and tormented; they hated, bruised and excluded … inside there were tears

i knew my mother would comfort somehow, so i sat atop her lap and told her of my pain and blues

she told me that no two people were exactly the same and we all had unique bodies, minds and hues

‘you are splendidly special my son, i love your red hair, i tinted mine similar with bottle and glove’

a choice moment, her secret to share, my spirit to repair, and her loving words still resonate in love