Long red hair drapes over a cold granite sink.
The kitchen window fogs up, the heat inside contrasting the bitter cold outside.
I am seven; still a baby
In my "Lion King" sweatshirt and jogging pants:
The kind with the straps under the feet.
I hold the dry rag against my eyes.
Protecting them from the poison that covers my head.
It burns.
"Hold still. I'm almost done." my mama says as she yanks the fine-toothed comb
Across my tender scalp.
Dad turns up the TV.
He hates to hear me cry,
But it never keeps him from making me cry.
My winter coat with the fur along the hood is the culprit.
The one I begged for.
The one like everyone else had.
The one I couldn't live without.
My long red hair: the perfect breeding ground
For the obnoxious insects that ruined my life,
That made my dad angry with me.
I was never allowed to cut it.
Daddy liked my hair long, just like his four sisters'.
Today it is still the same.
My identity encompassed in being the girl with the long red hair.
Just like Daddy likes it.
Another tragedy waiting to happen.
The kitchen window fogs up, the heat inside contrasting the bitter cold outside.
I am seven; still a baby
In my "Lion King" sweatshirt and jogging pants:
The kind with the straps under the feet.
I hold the dry rag against my eyes.
Protecting them from the poison that covers my head.
It burns.
"Hold still. I'm almost done." my mama says as she yanks the fine-toothed comb
Across my tender scalp.
Dad turns up the TV.
He hates to hear me cry,
But it never keeps him from making me cry.
My winter coat with the fur along the hood is the culprit.
The one I begged for.
The one like everyone else had.
The one I couldn't live without.
My long red hair: the perfect breeding ground
For the obnoxious insects that ruined my life,
That made my dad angry with me.
I was never allowed to cut it.
Daddy liked my hair long, just like his four sisters'.
Today it is still the same.
My identity encompassed in being the girl with the long red hair.
Just like Daddy likes it.
Another tragedy waiting to happen.