She Braids My Hair

Firm bristles find my forehead and pull, away and down to a small girl's waist.
Again and again until all wandering doubters are collected and herded into the fold.
Over one ear and then the other fine fretful side flyers are gathered in,
one under-stroke from the nape of my neck to my crown brings all the little lost
strays into her opposite hand.
There they are smoothed , consoled, and held together, warm and safe from the chaos
of a scared little girl's world.
She wraps it all in a protective band tha twill do its best to keep everything together until
we are reunited at the end of the day.
Deft slender fingers find the places they know by heart, separating the fold-three equal parts
and continuing the morning ritual.
The begin the get-ready dance, a small tug here, another there, a moments rest to re-smooth
or a slight pause for some outward interruption.
The dance continues, massaging my small scalp and reminding me of
my name...my place...my belonging.
The refrain repeats its song
Over-under-smooth and hold
over-under smooth and hold
Finally she reaches the small of my back and again a band is wrapped around the fold.
One final touch, a pink ribbon, tied at the top,a bow, perfectly horizontal of course.
I know now I can face the dog that barks on my walk to school
and the re-haired mean girl who sits in front of me.

She braids my hair and I know I am loved.