Hair

Poems & Proses is a regular arts column that features creative work by students at St. Thomas Univeristy.

The one hundred thousand hairs on my head 

Curl and coil in just as many directions.

My hair is a crown reaching up

To kiss the heavens, defying gravity.

It is a halo, an entity of the divine,

Infused with argan oil and my mother’s love.

 

My hair is my beauty.

My grandmother always told me that.

I never quite understood what she meant

When she said it to me when I was nine.

But I get it now, my hair is symbolic

Of the legacy of my ancestors,

Its maintenance requires knowledge

Passed down from mother to daughter

For centuries.

 

I spent hours on the ground 

In front of my mother.

I’ve spent lifetimes seated there,

My shoulders pressed between her knees

The back of my neck rested against

 the couch cushion as her fingers 

laced my curls with castor oil and 

Blue Magic.

 

Practised fingers contorted themselves

And configured road maps, 

cane fields and escape routes

That those generations before used 

In a time where a hairstyle

Meant the difference between 

Life and death, freedom and bondage.

 

Gentle hands adorn my braids and twists

With cowrie shells and precious metals. 

My locs and cane rows are threaded 

With cords of gold and copper.

The ends of my flat twists hang

From the weight of wooden beads.

 

My hair is a monument to the

Women who came before me. 

The ones forced into captivity and had

Their heads shaved like cattle

By green-eyed slave masters’ wives.

Those who were forced to cover their hair 

due to its alluring appearance

During colonialism.

Those who mangled their curls to be accepted

In the post-industrial workforce.

My hair is an ode to my fellow sisters.

 

It is so much more than ‘just hair’.

Author’s note

When I wrote this poem, I was feeling really homesick and reminiscing about my mom and how she used to spend a lot of time with me taking care of my hair. As I thought about it some more, I reflected on the deep cultural heritage tied to the practice of doing Afro-textured hair and this poem was the result.

Chaunte Blackwood is a third-year international student from Jamaica. She is double majoring in Criminology and English (Creative Writing).