Poem Donning the Dreads

Recalling Health to the Mind

Donning the Dreads

Last night

in a small room

with the house to myself,

the peppermint scented bath water

seemed just hot enough,

the candles burned

just bright enough

as I stepped in

and remembered

just why I needed

the ambiance of this room

so often.

Sinking further

into the warmth,

holding the sea sponge

in one hand, and the ivory

in the other,

my senses noted the saxophone

playing in the background

as my consciousness was soothed

and I became … immersed.

When I opened my eyes

I saw the pecan tan

that had engulfed my skin.

Was I really this brown-skinned woman?

To be sure

I was copper-toned all over,

and wondered how

I could have been so blind.

What color, after all,

had I imagined myself to be

for all these years?

And the question of my hair

suddenly became

charcoal clear.

I’d just wash it

and let it go –

be a self-made woman

finally, clearly brown,

donning my home-made,

self-locking,

dreads.

© 2003 Loretta Crosby. All Rights Reserved.