A Kind of Ode to the Gray in My Hair

by Ernie McCray

This is a kind of an ode
to my wild
and wiry hair
that’s ever so gray
that, particularly,
looked so beautiful to me
as I checked it out
in the mirror one day
because I happened to be thinking
how some old people like me
look at their gray hair
in utter despair
and turn it
into godawful colors
that hadn’t ever been seen
anywhere.
I mean colors that
lack both luster
and flair.
But, hey, it’s their hair,
and I don’t really care.
It’s just hair.
However, though,
I remember
a moment long ago
when I stood before a mirror
and before me
a gray hair,
seemed, out of nowhere,
to have suddenly appeared,
all nestled in my beard,
right below my bottom lip,
precisely in the middle of my chin
as though an artist
had put the gray there
as a starting point
for the other strands
of gray
that would later
be painted in,
and it seemed
so natural to me,
a kind of divine
honor to my life’s journey,
bestowed on me
for all the getting knocked down
and taking it on the chin
and getting back up again
and again and again;
for both the runaway scores
and the last minute wins
and recovering from the situations
wherein you just couldn’t win;
for the soaring highs,
both natural and otherwise,
and all the depressing lows
that come with
the manipulative mind games
and vicious body blows
that come and go
to and fro
as one lives a life
in a world
where anything goes,
where one has
to find a current that flows
along paths and in directions
he or she
wants to go
in their life.

And having lived a life
with more delights
than strife,
this kind of ode to the
gray in my hair
is a “Thank you”
to it for reminding me
I’ve come a long way
in my life,
year after year,
month after month,
week after week,
both day and night.

Come to think of it,
that’s what gray hairs
are for.
Right?