This is my mothers hair
growing wildly from atop
my head. Never needing curlers
or perms, whose ringlets splash freely,
down against my face, growing for ancestral
honor to a woman of strength and wisdom and to
a line that lived and loved with passion. My curls caress
me like the soothing kisses and warming arms of a mothers love.
Don’t judge me by my flowing tresses
or the facial hair of my grandfathers father.
I am not the TV villain or a worthless neer do well.
Get past the cover and open this book. Partake the story.
There is sadness and joy, conflict and pain, an unwritten ending…
a story of love, full and striving to gather in more life and spread its wings.
© Copyright 2016 GFJones. All rights reserved.