Mi Mama. Mi Pelo. by Marissa Phillips Mama, I still struggle to grasp our native tongue Pero, I want to say gracias For the thankless job you toiled at At a time when I hated myself Y mi pelo -- When you fell in love with papa – his dark skin, coarse hair Did you ever consider the result? You weren’t ready for these curls, this frizz You didn’t quite understand The social currency of straight hair In a white rural school Because you love me You figured they would too -- First, we tried to contain it Hair ties as restraints seemed like a good idea But only brought me attention The biggest ponytail that school had ever seen “Fluffy” the boy called me, with a smile Deemed me the class mascot, as if it were an honor -- Next, we tried to hide it Sulfuric smell filling the room as chemicals killed my curls Made my hair break off Burned my scalp But I was beautiful For a few months every year I was almost beautiful -- Remember how mad I’d get when you couldn’t do my hair right? Right was limp and lifeless My hair always too big, too full of life I’d wish boys would say “Wow, you take up so little space” Even your best attempts left tiny curls at my scalp Like dirt I could never wash off -- My hair is different now It’s lived a thousand lives My curls are bent, misshapen Gnarled by decades of discontent Pero, I’ve come to accept them Even embrace what they are A reminder that, against her better judgement Mama tried her best To make me feel beautiful Despite always knowing You cannot fix lo que ya es hermoso Marissa Phillips is a Puerto Rican writer and artist living in Harrisburg, PA. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Wilkes University.
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