Grandmother
my hair is still long undyed &
virgin [a receiving blanket
tucked around the edges of
my scalp— flannel you
serged & gave as gifts] you
said so many times a white
man would convince me to
cut my hair & they have tried
[or tell me how lovely it is in
a way that makes me want to
sheer my head clean] you
didn’t want me to cut my
hair— your mother’s long
silver when rheumatoid
clawed her hands— your
father [who called me only
long-legged gal] braided her
hair despite his own farm
hands [it’s not as easy as
saying tradish] you a navy
photog— hair styled close to
the neck & later thinned by
medications [it’s not as easy
as saying i share your
mother’s first & middle
name] it’s not as easy as
saying i have a man whose
last name is scotch-irish
common
it’s
not
as
easy
Copyright © 2024 by Mary Leauna Christensen. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 6, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.
“This poem, shaped similarly to a newspaper obituary, houses multiple griefs. Here, the grief is micro and macro, personal and cultural. Addressed to a deceased grandmother, the poem is a way to inform her on what she has missed of the speaker’s life. But it’s also about what the grandmother already knew as an Indigenous woman. Really, the poem is a conversation between generations.”
—Mary Leauna Christensen