Once upon a time

 

A young girl,

Sylvia,

grew up in a slum

near a gigantic city.

The city was made of Gold,

everything,

even the people.

 

They were the finest

of all.

The most

sought after,

protected,

and valued people

in all the land.

 

Golden Guards stood at every entrance

to the Golden City

and would wave their Golden Guns

at any peasant

who approached that was less than

Golden.

 

All the Golden People

had one thing in common,

their Hair,

real Gold,

Gold as the Sun,

long,

wavy,

majestic,

beautiful.

 

If you wanted to enter the

Golden City,

that is all you needed;

Hair

of

Gold.

 

Sylvia’s hair was not

Gold.

It was black as night,

or something less majestic,

like asphalt.

 

When Sylvia was young,

Boys pulled her hair.

Girls too.

After years of pulling

it shriveled up

dead and scared.

She began to use

her hair

to warn off

predators,

rapists,

everyone.

 

Sylvia was sad

for a

long, long, long, long, long, long

long, long, long, long, long, long

time.

 

Her tears filled the lakes

and made the rivers flow.

Her tears made rainclouds

and brought thunderstorms.

Her tears caused floods

and big waves to hit

the beaches of the oceans.

The clouds would hang forever.

 

Then,

one day,

she looked in the mirror

and her Hair was bright,

Golden

dripping drops of

Pure Gold.

 

She entered the City

and conquered the kingdom.

 

Sylvia had the Hair.

Pure,

Dipping,

Gold,

 

Hair.

 

The masses were drawn to her.

Everyone looked to her,

as a queen.

 

Except Sylvia.

Her hair was asphalt in the mirror.

She was sad,

but now she kept her tears

in a glass jar.

The jar filled.

The jars piled up.

The tears were kept.

Hidden.

 

One day the sun

came through the clouds.

Hot,

Bright,

Golden.

 

The earth dried,

and everything with it.

 

Even Sylvia’s Hair.

 

The Gold drops

stopped dropping

and her night

returned.

 

Sylvia looked herself

in the eye

and did something rather

strange;

she smiled.

 

Her hair was night.

 

A young boy entered her quarters

to greet the ethereal idle.

He saw asphalt.

He ran.

He screamed.

 

He screamed

and the tears,

the pain of Sylvia’s

Golden Years, broke forth.

 

The Guards came in

to arrest Sylvia,

but the tears filled the room

and all within it drowned.

 

The Sun hid its face

and the rains resumed.

 

At Sylvia’s funeral

the people bowed down.

 

pure

gold

dripping

from

her

head

from

her

glowing

golden

 

Hair.

Published by Mathias Larson