My Afro

By Jess Goldson

My afro grows up toward the sun like tulips in the spring.
Up, up, my curls defy gravity.
My thick thighs anchor me to my roots.
My roots
my feet give me a glide that makes my buttocks bounce.

My fervent frame falters occasionally, unable to find the energy that coaxes me
into confidence.
My confident, slow stride;
arms swaying back and forth,
slowly inflating my mood.
Faked
into reality.

My soul surrenders to my body.
My body feeds my soul.
I feed my body, at times for others, at times for myself.
I feel the nutrients nestle in my stomach,
slowly stretching out to my arms when I reach for a door.
I want the door to open, I make it open. I enter a new space and then take it up,
but not too much…

My afro grows up toward the sun like a lone tulip in the winter.
I try to maintain my beauty,
but the air is cold and stifles my growth,
chills me to my core.
I flounder,
fall,
fade away.
Until that glorious spring day when I shall bloom again.