Seven, eight, nine
and wondering:
What? No.
Why?
Make
these
go   a  w  a  y.

Ten
eleven
twelve

confused
without
explanation.

My family used combs but
c   o   m   b   s
couldn’t
slide
through
those
hairs.

Then years of
hiding. Pulling in and back,
of the iron, the denial
of texture and trial
and blow dryers.

Years
of
how
do
these
work

And finally, a sigh of relief—
because more
is more than
a good thing.

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