I weave
Each braid wraps ancestral dreams
The love my grandmothers had for their daughters
With no time nor energy to offer it
I tie it in pink and pale blue elastic
The hope of cotton cut and weary fingers
Work joyfully out the cornrows of her head
I am reminded ever as I brush and tame soft tresses
That she is here that she is real
Not sold, not abandoned to alleviate the burdening cries of hunger that cannot be fed
And there is ribbon enough for her hair
She has length in locks her African cousins do not know
Her curls and twists carry the rape of her grandmothers
Their sorrow, their song, their art and their love
It is their heartbreak turned to triumph
Darling daughter never hang your head
Always keep it high your grandmothers tears are not in vain
She gave all for your safety and you now wear it in your hair
Never let nappy headed be a negative
You may lock it, twist it, braid it, curl it, cut it, whatever you like
But never forsake the hours it takes
Nothing easy is ever worth it
Our story is a difficult one just as every great tale is
don’t wish for the ease of straight hair not our own
don’t covet the freedom from time between mothers knees
the daughters of other tribes enjoy
for in this time I will give you our heritage
the gifts of our ancestors
I will teach you their song and their dance the love in their hands
Your grandmothers will still whisper to you each time you bring fingers to locks
Long after you leave my lap
Beauty your hair and hips we name seas and waves
dangerous and enticing mysterious and dark as forest night
Darling daughter we leave you this crown
Wear it proudly and remember us
