July 22, 2017Ryhen MillerCornrow

My ancestors butter their corn like they do my braids in shea.

I grew into the cool kids group like a cornrow,

but couldn’t completely weave in:

When I was six, my mother began husking my curls with hot combs.

Vowed long hair was in my bloodline, said, no hair should be as curly and short as mine.

To her my hair should be long dangling down to my shoulders holding loose curls,

Because grandma always had growing hands.

I could imagine her hands pass into mother’s,

planting my hair with the nutrients it needed till it harvest,

growing my cornrows for my daughters so they could play double Dutch with them.

Laying them down like golden ropes that soak the soil.

They’d be knotted in between fingers that can’t grasp the rows of history.

I grew into the cool kids group like a cornrow,

but couldn’t completely weave in:

Mom wouldn’t approve of such radical

When I was six, my mother began husking my curls with hot combs.

Vowed long hair was in my bloodline, said, no hair should be as curly and short as mine.

To her my hair should be long dangling down to my shoulders holding loose curls,

Because grandma always had growing

I could imagine her hands pass into mother’s,

planting my hair with the nutrients it needed till it harvest,

growing my cornrows for my daughters so they could play double Dutch with them.

Laying them down like golden ropes that soak the soil.

They’d be knotted in between fingers that can’t grasp the rows of history.

But almost a decade later I won’t stop growing my cornrows till they’re too thick

for the media to spit our tradition

out of their—

My ancestors planted promises of freedom into our scalp.

It surprises me how some people in my community leave corn stuck

in the spaces between their fork.

But the media gets theirs and we get what’s picked out.

So I won’t stop growing my cornrows till

plates are filled with corn throughout the whole table.

But almost a decade later I won’t stop growing my cornrows till they’re too thick

for the media to spit our tradition

out of their mouths.

My ancestors planted promises of freedom into our scalp.