I wanted to write down this memory, and this is the form in which it came out. When I write about my mother, I tend to write about the loss of her (I have a lot to say on the subject). This is about something she gave me –something good, I think – but something nuanced and complicated, as things between mothers and daughters cannot help but be.
No More Tears
When I was maybe 8 or 9
I sat crosslegged on the gymnasium floor
all the school attending I don’t recall what
a row of teachers just behind me
and one of them paid a compliment
to the smooth, sun-burnished hair
that hung down my back
“Look how it shines!” she envied, and
the other women clucked in agreement
I turned, smiled and said thank you
surprised to be singled out,
told that any part of me was lovely to behold
And ever since then, I have known
I have known that my hair is beautiful
Just this morning, I remembered:
Every morning before elementary school
my mother sat behind me
and she brushed my knotted, wavy hair
She sprayed it with No More Tears
She smoothed it with V05
As I whined, longing to break free
