Turning Sina
I embraced menopause. Stopped dying my hair. Consciously
turned sina. Welcomed the tapu, protective cloak growing
out of me.
There were supporters, naysayers, indifferent spectators.
I was photographed. Printed with poems on posters. Pasted
to bollards and billboards. My transformation stilled to
portraits of a mottled canopy. A ripe mouth.
I decluttered my wardrobe. Discarded pastels. Adorned
bamboo hangers with vivid florals in full bloom.
Was threatened with cronehood invisibility. Phased out
of professional development opportunities.
Became fodder for ‘sea of grey’ audience statistics
on literary festival feedback forms. A derided bum.
A has-been. An undesirable demographic statistic
for inclusive investment purposes.
But I kept turning sina.
Hair follicles unearthed buried memories. Propelled
them into the world of light.
I meditated, cleared blockages, avoided toxic people.
Monitored internal monologues. The best of me
cascaded down my back.
And when it was done, when I was gloriously sina,
a doctor with thick black hair delivered the diagnosis.
Advanced breast cancer requiring chemotherapy.
You’ll lose your hair.
Sorry.
'Sina' is the name of various female figures in Polynesian mythology. 'Sina' also means hair that is white, silver or grey-haired with age in the Samoan language.
Serie Barford was born in Aotearoa to a German-Samoan mother and a Pālagi father. Her most recent poetry collection, Sleeping with Stones, was shortlisted for the 2022 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards.
