Poem #7

My friend Anna from work wants me to write a poem about dreadlocks. Now, up until this time there did not seem to be a good prompt for that subject. While she waited she regaled me with stories of her own "locking" experience. Then I came to today's prompt: write a rambling poem. It seemed like a good time for locks. Here is my poem for Anna:

Locks

Anna wants a poem about locks but how

does a white girl write about locks? She

writes other peoples’ stories as they

come. Vera cultivates a mountain out of

her Lilliputian head, forcing the power

of her personality through years of

knotting. When shearing time comes,

the cropped mane rests at shrines and

sacred spaces across a yellow land.

Anna’s hair au natural voices bold

identity. Building a new do from

a heartfelt afro—twisting, beading,

breaking, building. Understanding anew

hair with its own attitude. Sheldon is

tired of low. Twists just beginning to

grow, hair like relationships, unformed

and anticipating a new look, a new love

dread and dreads morphing in unison.

Locks. Anna, this poem is for you.