cousins

Straight hair
makes her feel pretty.
I have grease on my hands,
makes the hot iron hard to hold.

She keeps trying
to see her reflection in the mirror.
I have to readjust her beautiful
brown face to face me.

I need to get the edges, I say
and the curl has to be just right
on the ends. If I don't get
close enough to the root
she just might sweat it out
too soon.

But she is in a rush.
Only black girl in her homecoming group.
Needs to do her hair separately she says.
They'll do their makeup together.

Her mom, white as anything, just gave up
a long time ago. My cousin, same colour as me,
same hair we both relaxed at one point
but stopped (because it was breaking our
hair to pieces) she is afraid to ask me to do it
but does anyway.

Cause she knows
if she didn't ask me (in hushed tones)
she would look a hot mess.
Little mixed race girl
with her frizzy hair she got done by hands that didn't understand.

It was not done right. People in Colorado act
like they never done a Black girl's hair before. She knows I have because I am.
I did it right but I feel bad. I wish I didn't have to. I wished she saw
the beauty in her curls. I wished she wore it out
and didn't see her beauty sideways in mirrors.

It's part of growing up split down the middle like a part.
Still some time left for self
loving. Still some time left for the smell of burnt hair
and castor oil grease.