Wash Day

Kamora Honor
I cut my braids to cut off bad spirits.
I cut my braids for a “new do.”
I cut my braids as you cut
from my history. Adding 
pieces to coincide with 
your “convinced history.”

I cut my braids to breathe better.
I cut my braids to reach my natural form,
my natural hair. My natural divinity. 
What is your version of natural?

I cut my braids like an apple tree.
I cut my braids and pass them 
around as food. Food for thought.
I cut my braids off and you take 
my scissors away from me. You
threw them into the Atlantic 
for them to rust.

I cut my braids off to protect my 
vines. My apple tree has to be cut 
to be protected. If you dared to do 
the same, I would be as different 
from an apple tree as white from 
black. I cut my braids to begin a 
new person. Transforming from a 
pupal stage into a butterfly. You 
cutting my braids is cutting my wings.