The Journey Inward

When I was in middle school,
My friends and I would braid each other's hair,
Pigtails, one braid down our backs,
Two braids of just the front pieces with the rest down,
Overnight braids to have waves the next day,
Then French braids as we got older,
With more complicated styles,
More complicated patterns,
But always with the same feeling,
Hands in hair,
Twisting and winding,
Back and forth,
Down our backs,
Intimate and innocent,
Chatting all the while,
Our braiding.

My daughters were braiders, too,
Always creating looks before school,
Or before games,
With each other and their friends,
And they do it still.
It makes my heart happy to see this little ritual,
Carried on to the next generation,
With girls caring for girls,
Entwined in so much more than just a hairstyle.

Today at work,
I was speaking to a colleague,
When I reached up and touched by hair,
That had been curly that morning,
But now had the feel of a bushy, frizzy haystack,
After a humid morning bus duty.
Absently, I reached up and began to braid my hair,
Sitting across from this old friend of mine,
My college roommate turned colleague,
Who once sat in a braiding line with me,
Each doing the one's hair in front,
And before I knew it, I had created a braid worthy of my early years,
A braid that harkened me back,
Though this time I tucked it under instead of letting it fall down my back,
And I smiled.

I smiled in that moment,
And I smiled all day long,
During all my classes,
As the girls touched it,
As the boys stared at me and wondered what was different,
As I attended an online union meeting,
As I went to a therapeutic class,
As I ate dinner,
And as I walked.
I smiled,
Remembering the little girl who loved to braid,
And have her hair braided.

Photo:  Selfie Portrait, 10.7.24 by LA