A Curly Lock of Hair
The Laughing Boy -Frans Hals (Art Museum Mauritshuis) I took pic in The Hague, Netherlands with Holden I hold a little blue box With joy. A locket of hair. Its browns and golds sparkle In the light. When you were three You asked your mom to cut your hair. It floored her you know. A show of your independence. A show of her act of love. For your mom to snip your curls. Like flecks of gold Cut away from a Byzantine Art piece. When you get to be 8 or 9 years old I’ll ask you, “ Do you want to see a treasure?” “Of course, Nanna, show me! ” I’ll have you follow me. You’ll watch expectantly as I pull out a small blue box. Before I open it, I’ll pause. For your full attention. “This is so precious.” I’ll say as I hug it to my heart. My eyes will make sure they reach yours. I’ll reverently open the box. “It’s hair!” You'll most likely say with disgust. “It’s your three-year-old self’s curl,” I’ll reply with a smile. “Your Mom let me keep one.” “Aw, Nanna,...