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Matted, twisted, dreadlocked
afros of thick wavy knots a texture of curls inherited. Visions of childhood braids adorned with pink butterfly barrettes. My hair is singularly unique. As a child, you wouldn’t see my hair advertised, or products on the shelves of grocery stores never plastered on billboards. A neighborhood secret of black-owned beauty parlors filled with the scent of straightening combs used to flatten resistant coils. Smoking was forbidden
especially at the breakfast table. She knew it was against all the house rules, knew it was time for her to tidy up the debris on the table. Her parents taught her well. She listened. She heard them. She thinks of them now as she sits and smokes after breakfast. From childhood to the label of matron
responsibility falls on our shoulders like leaves from a tree that we rake through an eternal autumn and begin again each day. We know the descent will continue and we are the ones who must maintain the motion, never miss a leaf pile each with care and lament. Diligent in our task. |