From Hair, To Eternity (February 22, 2016)

The song, "Hair," from the rock opera, "Hair"

Looking at

The ringing telephone.

A sad

But frustrated sigh

Escapes.

Knowing

Without picking up

The receiver.

How

The dread conversation

Will go.

In a negative way.

Rehashing

An old and stale argument

That runs

Along generational

And gender lines.

As if

The length

Of one's hair

Is a social taboo

Of the most grievous kind

One can commit.

Why

Should it matter

How long or short

A person's locks are.

If they are presented

In a neat

And attractive way.

By expressing

One's view

On gender

And sexuality.

It's only dead cells

Extruding

From one's scalp

After all.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For about 5 month period, between 2005 and 2006, my mom would phone, almost, on a daily basis, long distance, asking me, if  I was ready, to get my hair, and wanted her, to pay for it. You would think, she get the message, after a month of saying, “No”, or not answering the phone. Even after, storming out of her car, at a local mall, and walking home, she, still didn’t get the message. Only, the intervention by someone else, did she stopped her harassment of me. Although, she wasn’t very happy, about the sight of me, growing my hair.

Since then, I had all of my hair cut off, as the 2007 perm, developed a life of its own, making combing my normally wavy hair, a royal pain, in February 2009. In 2014, a trim, to cut off, my spit ends and tidy up, my unruly mop.