How many shades of blonde are twisted and tucked and
finally coaxed into this braid,
how lovely, how simple, how long can I gaze, studying how the hair,
so many strands so unruly at first, then carefully gathered by a mother's hand
into a darker collection at the nape of her neck, where brown hair hides
amongst the blonde.
Somehow
the braid emerges from there, now straight and well mannered, dropping
down onto her small back, secured with a yellow band
(that I may have even held in my hand when I was there),
a spray of gold emerging into the light.
...............
And then...ice cream, the just reward for enduring such fussiness!
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