Insanity in a Relaxed Scalp
by Sabrina Dawkins
Earth is a ball
because I read it in a book.
But I don’t fall off.
A bowl holds water
so it doesn’t spill out.
But pour water on a ball
and watch it slide off.
Tiny coils cover my head,
keeping it warm and dry
but I burn my scalp
to make them straight
and wear winter hat now
that scalp is cold.
I approached the beauty salon
and didn’t know I had a scalp:
It was cushioned under plush blankets of curls.
When I left out, I knew I had a scalp.
Cold wind hit straight hairs
like a storm knocking waves,
tossing them about, hitting naked scalp,
a cold punch I could no longer escape.
There is a raised scab now
that will peel off soon
where relaxing chemicals touched naked scalp.
And the next time and the next
when I go to the salon
will my scalp have to endure this reveal.
An insane head is one not protected,
anything going in or on it without question.
But the victim doesn’t know
because the assault is shown
as “science” and “beauty.”