The tangles had not yet bloomed to my neck
my father is convinced that
I am Rasta.
He always brushed his waves methodically spirally from the crest
dropped off at Cool Cuts and Salon
I greet seven uncles with whom I share no blood
Their speakers play Jill Scott singing about a life of freedom
Her sweet silky voice clashes with rasp vibrations
shaping up scruffy beards
Walk through the sound of clippers
and that vanilla scent embraces my nose
The salon has a different vibe
ladies who remind you
Of those aunties who seem much more friendly than expected
They come up and squeeze you
Boy, you are getting way too tall
You sure gon’ be a heartbreaker when you grow up
He look just like his daddy, and he sure is getting handsome
I sit down in the salon covered in earth tones
Hazel green wall…Coffee brown floors
All the accents blending together
Finally strands were woven in meticulous patterns
Twisting…. intertwining
articulating the story of my descent
Black boys and girls conveying their culture then being punished for it
Its not professional Its unruly Its unclean
Others not seeing the royalty, not seen even with their crowns
a hairstyle which tells a story born from the Pharaohs of Egypt’s past
Donning knots in their sarcophagi…Adapted then during the middle passage
Enslaved persons cultivating their mane
Solace found
the Oppressor had no control
The roots always captivate me the most
So intricate, delicate and sensitive but strong and rich
Cortez Washington is a junior in high school. He loves reading books listening to new music and writing poetry in his free time. He is extremely passionate about social justice issues and getting involved in his greater community.