“My hair is kinda kinky, but my man, he don’t care.
My hair is kinda kinky, but my man, he don’t care.
Any man’s fool to want a mamma … for her hair! (Bessie Smith)
Our good friend and frequent contributor to this site, Sheri Strobaugh offers a light touch to our contest with this poem.
Before you read, let me remind everyone that we (actually, his moiness) will stop accepting entries after March 7th, the 52nd anniversary of the march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. We have enough stories backlogged to continue posting for at least another month or two, and I want to give each story some hang-time to allow comments before posting the next. When all have been posted, three finalists will be selected, and given a new prompt. From these, Pulitzer Prize-winner, friend and publishing client Jonathan Freedman will select our winner, to be announced at the Fifth Annual Writer’s Reunion to be held at the hacienda of my long-time friend, best-selling author Victor Villasenor in Oceanside, (the only event that could pull me away from Prague, where the metamorphosis of Kafka’s spirit and timely discussions with Einstein are all relative, and where my being has the incredible lightness of Kundera). The winner will receive $500 and a trophy created from the plaque “The Drinking Fountain” that has served as the prompt for your entries. I have avoided entering the fray with comments of my own, but please don’t think I am on auto-pilot. I will have a few words when we’re finished.
So, let’s hear from Sheri!
by Sheri Strobaugh
Black is the color of my mother’s hair.
Oh, how I adore brushing it, with its deep, dark shine.
Black is the color of my best friend Sarah.
Oh, how I yearn to have her beautiful dark skin.
Red is the color of my long, unruly hair.
Oh, how I wish I could have that flowy, dark mane.
Black is the color of my best friend’s eyes.
Oh, how I wish mine would be as dark as pools.
Black is the color of prejudice.
Oh, why can’t people see through my eyes?
and now, Nina!