wash day requiem.

you’re seated on the cold countertop of the kitchen 

her hands tugging at your hair like god 

she pulls this way 

and you pull away 

she pulls that way 

and you’re back again

thighs are burning like hell

she’s running her fingers through one more time

just five more minutes 

but oh five more minutes is still burning like hell

now you sit on the floor between her legs 

in your living room 

in her bedroom 

in your grandma’s old sitting room 

on the porch outside 

watching as the sun rises and rests 

or maybe you’re in a chair in the kitchen 

as she picks at the roots and the knots 

like a gardener or some old fisherman

(she is a veteran either way.)

in the background is a movie or some tv show 

you pick, she picks

it doesn’t matter because you’re cranking your head either way 

now you’re back to:

she pulls this way 

and you pull away 

she pulls that way 

and you’re back again

but when it’s all over 

and it will be all over 

and she lets you go over to that mirror 

to see that fresh head of hair 

it will all be worth it 

the crying 

the sobbing 

the near spanking 

the pushing and pulling 

it will all be worth 

that smile that breaks across your face 

and she won’t ask you if you like it 

she’ll already know 

because it's the same as getting your toes painted 

or buying a new dress for easter

or picking all the bows and barrettes in your hair

there is something sacred in doing your hair 

something historic – like a thread tying us all together 

even the queen of sheba did her hair before seeing solomon

and the mighty pharaoh cleopatra as well

just as you sit and cry 

so did the children of the west african tribes 

just as you stand and smile in the mirror 

so did the warriors and queens before you

  you have the hairstyle of warriors and queens 

oh, pretty girl, look at you