03
Jan
10

Going To Bed With Wet Hair

My grandmother could never go to bed with wet hair;
She said It made her feel ill and kind of feverish.
She preferred to wash it in the morning then while it
Was still a little damp she coiled it into a snail’s shell
On the back of her head, piercing it and attempting to lock it
Into place with a dozen or more bobby-pins she held in her teeth.
When I was a little girl I dreamed of drawing my hair over one shoulder,
Weaving it into long snakey plaits- like Rapunzel
Or the daughters in the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder-
Allowing it to dry overnight before snipping the bands
The next morning, releasing an ocean of golden waves
To trail enticingly from a tower window.
Usually I lacked the patience to allow my hair to grow;
The few times my hair was long enough to finally braid,
My arms would get too tired to finish it.
These days I’m more accepting of myself and I wear my hair shorter.
But I could never go to bed with still wet hair.
I’ve woken up too many mornings with one side looking starched
While the other was run about in by small children with dirty feet.

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