Contrast
He asked me to put the hairs
in a small yellow box. It was plastic,
with a catch at the front that clicked
when closed.
Every Sunday, I looked carefully
at my father’s head
and plucked out the grey hairs
that hid sneakily
among the robust black ones.
He gave me twenty cents for each strand
until one day, a few years later,
the box was full
and there were still so many more to pluck.
Overcome with sadness, I said,
‘Father, I don’t want the money.’
He then began dyeing his hair
and in the bathroom sink every week
drips of black water
revealed that father was clawing
back his youth.
Fifteen years later, he
has stopped dyeing his hair,
worried that the chemicals
might harm his grandchildren
whom he often rests
on his shoulders,
proud now
to highlight the contrast.
Please Register or Login
Register now for full access to News and Events, Web Exclusives, Blogs and Comments.
If you've already registered, please login.