20th July 2019

This week
we shaved your hair.

It dropped,
we collected dreadlocks.
You selected.
Thick, thin, those divided into two or three at the bottom and chose between us who would bequeath.
Some of us weaved it into ours.
I cursed my hair for the millionth time
for being so white,
so white it wouldn’t clutch onto yours.
I wanted our hair like a single vine.

I’ll matte our hair together underneath,
I promise.

This week
one of us stayed in bed
because life is hard.
One of us got angry, moody, mardy, at the same time shaved your hair.
One buried their head in the sand, physically, and finally showed tears.

Laughter is easy, strength is strength and tears are necessary.

This week
two girls became sisters again,
watched silly things on TV about “love”.

Real love is everything you taught me.
Not bullshit TV.

Love is giving up the bad.
Love is choosing what’s good.
Your love chose us.

This week
we painted.
Made a tree, each of our fingerprints stamped as leaves:
some filled branches,
one a small collection of oranges,
one pressed a thumb against the canvas – a single black print on a bottom branch.
It made me feel sad.

This week
I gave up.
Stopped trying to make you stop eating sugar, because you aren’t trying.

Why should I?

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