What Grows from My Head by Allison Carbaugh

What Grows from My Head

Allison Carbaugh

A long, tangled mess falls over my shoulders. Brushed out, it is a lion’s mane. Loose curls follow the patterns of the waves my ancestors crossed only decades ago.

Mousy brown. But red when sunlight dances on the coils. Blonde at the tips when the summer has had its way.

Old photos tell another story. A towhead baby. Blonde silk threads – straight as a pin The odd child out.

When did it all change? From gold to bronze? Springy coils out of straight wire.

When will it change again? When whispers of silver Become a roar.

I suppose then, This silver will become a blanket Or maybe a scarf in a single braid falling past my chest.

Wherever time takes it, And however it gets there, I will know only one thing: This mess of colors, cultures, and curls is mine.