Curls — Peter Yang
I thought your hair was always gray, delicately thin
with no recognition that there was once a time when
it curled into luscious jet hair sophisticated
funny little secrets contained in the graceful arc of
each mouthful, sly strand, we begged for
the straightening, as if all your mysteries would
fly out into the world, and maybe your hair
wouldn’t be so Eleusinian anymore.
(but there’d be an item or two left in there)
each curl callously unravels in their splendor
and then everything, everything flies out and away!
the shade receives a light tint like the rude awakening
of a clue by a detective, so suddenly deprived of
its mystique– your hair loses its stealth, its leverage
and then even I can see the innocent scalp
behind the old rows of white– but
you were once sterling
Peter Yang is a high school senior at the Gilman School in Baltimore, Maryland. He received multiple Gold Keys from the Scholastic Art and Writing competition. He also serves as a senior leader for his school's Writing Center, providing feedback on creative writing and analytical essays. In his spare time, he watches birds, solves jigsaw puzzles, plays ice hockey, and jams on his drum set.