Poetry Spotlight: Blonde

Blonde

Tug

Pull

Scratch

Brushing roughly against my scalp

the mother rakes a thick bristle brush

through her blonde-bleached hair.

Her ugly corn colored hair,

stiff as cardboard,

dead as hope.

First made when she was young,

at the salon with tin foil in her hair,

back when she wanted to look like her mother,

or when her mother wanted the daughter to look like her.

She’s made herself blonde ever since then.

Every time the blonde starts to fade

or the brown desperately reaches through the prison bars

it is violently suppressed with developers and chemicals.

Blonde dry as cereal,

turning to dust with a single touch,

looking like pollen in the wind,

texture of a dried banana peel,

appearance the color of dried vanilla cake crumbs.

Blonde desperately beaten into submission,

while brown is held back with a bottle of developer and an armed guard.

Snap

Crackle

Pop

Her hair cracks and falls.

A waterfall of yellow

and broken dreams.

A fresh start

with no more blonde.