Such Beautiful Wise Hair Poem by Romella Kitchens

She worked at the CVS on Baum Boulevard, in
Pittsburgh.
She had beautiful, long, silken hair.
She was very kind.
She was very friendly.
She was the only person from India who ever
talked to me kindly, some of them seemingly feeling
my being half-Black and half-Indian was a wrong
worse than sin.
She had beautiful white hair.
It billowed like enchanted morning mist even when
she pulled it back.
It portrayed her steadfast health.
We talked again and again.
She became elated when we conversed.
She was true India to me.

Her husband would come and get her after work.
They would walk through the parking lot smiling to
his car.
One evening an impatient driver in the parking lot
hit her and killed her, a kind woman in her seventies.
His car simply couldn't brake to save her life in time.
I have grieved her for many years.

She asked me once, " Are you part Indian? East Indian? Tell me true."
When I told her yes, she smiled widely and said, "That is quite nice. It is nothing to hide. It made a nice person like you."
No plaque or kind obituary can take away that grief.
There is no place to put that grief.
No cart, no shopping bag.
No definition of accident can contain it.
Another Indian treated like their life didn't matter.
We talked again and again.