Rice: Poems

Tenderheaded

134 Tenderheaded I am And have been Since they used to pass me around By my three mule braids Like a bowl of briarberries No one wanted to touch But everyone wanted to see “You take her!” “Ohh noo ma’am, I had her last time, remember?” Nobody No body Wanted to straighten this hair And I didn’t want no body to Cotton mud brown And a continent thick They made bets on what color my scalp was And how long it would take to get there Then they would circle all around Hover over the swivel chair Just to know who had won And who had lost Easily It was a day’s travel From first to last sizzling stroke Afterwards Whoever lost Somebody politely walked over 135 And regretfully informed The rest of her waiting customers That she would be unavailable For the rest of the day While in the back room Already she was soaking her fingers In a bowl of something sudsy and smooth Readying them For their ordeal And for the next four hours I was hers By large unsympathetic fingers She would take me Unmercifully From chair to sink To chair To dryer Back to chair And then finally Lead me up front Near the Clyburn’s Beauty Shop sign Somewhere safe and far away from those hands Where my scarlet and throbbing head Where my scorched ears Could better cool Behind me I could hear her Back with her girls now Her fingers returned to that sudsy bowl Waiting I suppose For the color and the feeling to return I could hear her I could hear them all good Talking and teasing 136 About how the Lord Must’ve got me mixed up With somebody else Maybe even two or three people Giving me all that hair And tenderheaded too Saying how some poor soul Out on the street right now Walking around with a big ole buffalo brush And just a finger snap of hair Steady pleading their mama Or maybe even an auntie For some squatting time inside That sacred place of places And once inside those gapping legs How eyes would close up around Hands scratching and brushing To high heaven How they would sit so perfectly still While their scalp got raked and planted Making sounds like they never wanted any of it To stop Still not knowing they so mismatched Not knowing maybe I got some Of what belongs to them Don’t know how good I can hear Their laughter ringing off the glass That my head has made into My cooling board Just like they don’t know How hard I’m trying not to hear them 137 How hard I’m steady peeping outside Longing for to Get away Ride away Inside the safety Of that ’69 Buick Back beside the generous giver Of this tenderheaded crown ...