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When My Mother Used To Braid My Hair

Travis Green

I remember when my mother used to braid
my hair late at night, lathering it down
with Blue Magic coconut oil, gently
working it into the roots, my head tilting
back towards her, feeling the rhythm
of the comb in her hands glide through my hair,
my body embracing the soothing sensation.
I loved her soul magic, how she weaved each
strand of hair into gorgeous braids, all sleek
and dream enchanted, how she seemed
to shimmer like a bright goddess,
how she would sing old hymns,
each vivid sound rising in the air,
curling up towards some majestic
dimension. She reminded me of an African
queen from a long time ago, an astonishing
woman full of insight and power,
inspiring, fearless, spiritual, virtuous,
soulful, a magnificent mother that made me
proud to be her beautiful daughter. And as she
continued braiding my hair, humming a lovely
melody, the stars shining through the windowpane
on our bodies, the moonlight a mansion of the greatest
memories staring upon us as I savored every moment
with my mom.

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