Wash Day

Last Sunday, I knelt in front of the tub for three hours. 
Comb in hand, twenty-dollar conditioner in the other. 

And I’m thinking to myself, those white girls,
who cut their hair post-breakup are on to something. 

It’s not a fleeting thought, it lasts another hour.
My thumbs got indents pressed in from the comb,
it burn the same way getting leave-in(1) behind my eyelids do. 

After the leave-in, I got to make sure my coils defined. 
Moisturized, put in their place, and locked under my durag(2). 

My arms burn and extend themselves into thin branches, 
built-in combs at the end.
And I know, I’m meant to burn this way forever,
even if I think about cutting it all off. 

*

My father’s hair falls down his back in thick locs(3) —
he calls it his connection to the motherland. 

He thinks they’re some magical black-gray roots.
Traveling from his thoughts, down underground, 
deep under the surface of the ocean. 

Probably thinks his locs will grow so far, 
they’ll bubble up from the ground of Ghana,
like a boil turned holy symbol. 

*

My mother’s hair has broken all of my father's rules.
No dye, no perms, no haircuts. 

He says that your connection to the universe 
is dead if you dye your hair. 

He never said anything about my Mother’s lace front(4) though.
Her Brazilian, wavy, twenty-eight inch. 

I am not allowed to follow in her footsteps.
No dye, no perms, one haircut (not too low).

So she teaches me to love my hair instead.
I never listened very well. 

(1) leave-in: conditioner placed in your coils.
(you leave it in, no washing necessary.)

(2) durag: cloth placed on head to protect the hair.
(wear with caution.)

(3) locs: locks of hair that have been 
encouraged to lock together. 

(4) lace front: a wig with hairs individually tied 
to a transparent lace at the front.