A Wif, a Girl, a Woman:

Hair hand plaited,

brushed or in locs,

oiled, conditioned,

cared under the supervision

of advice passed from one matron

to another. Now she

stands in the mirror

a warm reflection:

familiar and her own

She uses superstition-

sweater curses

an old, hand-woven thing-

as quiet prayers.

Uttered not from the gospel,

no holy bread broken,

only fresh baked loaves

from the hands of a grandmother.

Whispers are passed

like the warm blowing of summer wind.

Let the sun kiss your skin!

Soft fingers trace freckles

that add chapters to a story

written by her wrinkles, her stretch marks,

her acne, her double chins.

Fellow girls are her sisters

and they’ll celebrate her beauty.

A lovely way to be

the treasure of

female companionship.