Sunflower Hair
Clumsy fingers dance across her head shimmering with the grease that lubricates her scalp
Like a sequined dress
Soft as a newborn’s breath
Yet aflame from the sparks of her passion to master
The basket weaved strands that carry her identity
Her heritage
Braided crowns rest above our souls as ethereal as an angel’s halo
Glowing with the gold that is our tradition, that is our skin glistening underneath the rays of our sun
Her aching arms do not compare to her ancestor’s endless agony
Planting rice grains within kinky crowns to live
The prominent symbol of her culture with skin between stressed temples sorrowfully singing the suffering of past souls
Stretched like overtaxed gymnasts tangled in ruby ribbon
Waves of pride swell against the weary coasts of her history
Her cornrows sway in the gentle wind
Beneath a harvest moon
Her roots are rooted in the soil of her culture
And she plants the seed of this beloved skill, the embryonic effort of braiding into her untilled hands
Fingers embedded into the fresh dirt of this exquisite experience
Our hair blooms towards the sun like a sunflower
Like the faces of her forefathers gazing upon the North Star and her sunflower strands eternally reach for the heavens
Stems interlocked like the blood of our brothers and sisters running through different veins
Infused with the stories that are braided into scalps during summer days
Like our souls and history
Her hair, our hair is seldom tamed by the hands of others
❤ This was just a poem about the important tradition that is braiding for the black community, stay tuned for more soon to come ~❤
