By: Miesha.Sadé
coils.
they spring,
and sing,
and blush.
with kisses of water,
and oils that cascade into places
often neglected.
so you brush.
with a tug of war grip.
strand by strand.
with shea butter hands.
it’s not “just hair”.
it is soft, yet stubborn,
much like myself.
some days,
having a mind of its own.
growing.
slow as honey drips.
other days,
much faster.
i realize,
i, too.
am a garden,
with dandelion kinks,
and curls in between.
waiting to be watered,
waiting to be seen.
(4C)
Tatianna Wilkins, Wear your Hair
Read more from Miesha.Sadé in chameleon: a collection of poetry and prose