Ode to the combs

This month I was asked to share some work at Cross and Crows, a queer focused bookstore on Commercial Drive. I didn’t quite know what would manifest when I saw the space but it became a sweet, fun little installation of painting, ceramics and poems, an ode to my love of hair braiding from the curiosities that began at such a small age up until recently when I decided to launch a hair braiding business.

I also took part in a poetry reading and surprised myself by getting up to read. I write a lot of rhymes to help me deal with complex emotions but I don’t normally share them with many people. I had a fear that the work I comprised for this display wasn’t wasn’t deep enough to be considered poetry. But upon arrival, upon feeling the safety of being in a room with a close group of friends and some new faces who had intentionally brought themselves to share their vulnerability and bare their souls, I felt safe and held and I figured why not. It turned out to be a beautiful experience. You can still catch the display at Cross and Crows Books for another week. 2836 Commercial Drive, Vancouver, BC, Canada V5N 4C6.

Combs

Ode to the combs that witnessed me being sad, 

When I thought that I was ugly , when I thought my hair was bad 

To the ones that have been there through thick and thin

Through relaxers and straighteners, when I tried to fit in. 

Through my early childhood and that awful lice outbreak, 

To all of the combs that were destined to break 

You’ve ’ve seen me through the hairstyles that were nothing short of tragic, 

You somehow helped me realise that my hair is magic

It may be wild and unruly but I think it’s pretty cool

You help me see my locs are a gift, you’re more than just a tool

You warped but never wavered over all the years it’s grown 

To me, you are a trustee friend and entity of your own

You taught me I don’t have to contain my mane, 

Instead ill I’ll wear it with pride 

And embrace the kinks and knots and twists,

Because you’ll always be by my side.

My sisters hair

My sisters locs were coily and tight

When it was time for a haircut she’d put up a fight

It made me uneasy to see her cry

I thought maybe I’ll help her, I’ll give it a try

So I observed the braiders as they parted and twisted

Taking everything  in incase I missed it

There was no youtube so I had to concentrate

And watch every movement I would later recreate

At twelve years old my braiding wasn’t the best

But I was determined to work through the mess

My cornrows got better as her hair got longer

I kept on practising until I got stronger

Something inside of me knew what to do

And I started braiding my own hair too

A ritual filled with love, I came to understand

My ancestors guiding me through each strand

Hair journey

t's kind of obsessive, I’m completely aware,

That I can’t get through many conversations without talking about hair.

From kinky to curly, from twists to a fro,

I change up my style, so my wisdom can grow.

A braid here, a twist there, with a dash of some flair, 

Each strand tells a story, each coil is a prayer.

I’m the queen of my crown with each look I feel strong, 

It's magic, it's beauty, It's where I belong.

One day I’m in locs, the next day it's a mess 

But each style is different and I always impress.

When I need transformation, to feel new and bright,

 I turn to my hair, and I get it just right.

I braid others' hair too, with love and with care,

Sharing joy through the strands, in the styles that we wear.

The ritual is sacred, with hands that connect,

Holding space that is cherished in deep-rooted respect.

We sit and we braid, we laugh and we chat, 

For hours and hours, imagine that!

So if you see me looking at you with wonder in my stare, 

Just know it’s my passion, my power, my hair.

Thank you to the staff and organizers for the beautiful poetry night.