Ode to Kinks of the Fold

Curls wrap absences of beauty

in warmth and comfortable conversations;

strength glistening across the backs

of caramel, yellow, to tar dispositions.

Pouring a history of disbelief and poisonous reality

through eyes of plenty.

Nappy cares spread

from nimble fingertips and brazen shoulders

to embracing treasures of the mind that are oppressed

to one of many prisons for a colored woman.

Coils of city limits and country’s familiarity by night

that swim judgments capture falsehoods

to use as play toys.

The remains falling down our faces

like fatherless tears taking away our pride.

Despite mainstream insecurities

I love waking up with natural truth on my head.

You, with the convenient smile,

carrying the definition of my face

spring in my first step to individuality;

I’d claim my hair the way a mother would her child,

it’s one of the instincts of who I am.