She’s standing still pale as England, slim and serious as I stood then. Hair chopped above her shoulders with a little curl allowed as mine was then. A little curl allowed, in memory of it’s ringlets earlier than then. Then it grew longer and we pulled it straight. So now, it’s more like it was before then. Before then, when it was longer still, and ironed straight under thick brown paper. It had been shorter still before then it’s feminine length curtailed, but with a little curl allowed, a reminder of it’s ringlets earlier than then. Of it’s earlier hated ringlets grown from loose curls. Ringlets cut when father died. Not until then. *First published in Silver Birch Press, Looks Like Me series December 2015*
About the Poet:
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Light Journal and So It Goes. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/
Ephemeral Elegies 
This is really beautifully written. Hair can be a stark reminder of all sorts of things with women I believe. So lovely, hugs Joni
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I echo the sentiment. Yeah, the bald truth is sometimes I miss my hair. In fact, I still had my hair when my mom was still alive, many moons ago. But every now and again, I look through my baby book, and see the curls that were saved from my first haircut. I was her little hippie. Thank you for resurrecting that memory Lynn.
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