Haircut

It cascaded down my back
all the way to my waist
a jumble of dark brown curls
I’ve been letting it grow since I was six .

Unlike the girls whose hair was straight
I never tied mine in a ponytail
or crisscrossed it into a braid
I wore it loose to catch the sun
to reveal the reddish highlights
as it bounced and swayed.

Boys would reach out to touch it,
girls became jealous and mean,
older women said I should tie it back
or cover it with a scarf.

Sister Superior said,
"It is a woman’s vanity,
you shouldn’t flaunt it.
You needed a modicum of modesty
because you are still a child."

My dad said, “I love your hair,
it graces your face and shoulders
let it hang free.”

I let it grow, trimming it occasionally
to keep the ends from reaching my knees.
Sometimes it would fall forward
to frame my face
other times I would sweep it to
the side and let it hang
across one shoulder.
I adorned it with ribbons
and flowers.

In my sophomore year my mother said,
“It’s time to cut it.” No questions asked,
no chance to argue, she sat me down
and just like that - whack, whack, whack
the hair was gone and that was that.

Tears ran down my cheeks
but I didn’t utter a word.
When my father saw me he shouted,
“Where's you hair mi'jita?"
and then I sobbed.

My mother said, “It was time for her
to have a more modern style,” and after that
no one ever talked about it.

I made a decision to let my hair grow.
By the time I was in college
it was long once more.
I never let anyone cut it again.