Caress

It was our ritual 

Me, my mom and my hair 

Every morning 

Before going to kindergarten 

She solemnly did my French Braid 

The bathroom was filled with morning sun

Everything was still fresh and blank

Open to every possibility 

Between the mirror and my mom 

I was sitting quietly 

As if waiting for a verdict

Behind 

My mom gazing down my head 

So seriously 

Diligently

Hair comb on her right hand 

Hair band on her left hand 

Grabbing like spear and bow

I was breathing shallowly 

Try not to break her seriousness

Her busy hands

Caressing my hair 

Smoothly 

Efficiently

Her smooth hands 

Making braid 

Quickly 

Precisely 

Not a hint of hesitation 

As if she knows my everything 

The smell of hair gel

The sound of combing my hair

My dark thick French Braid 

Down to my waist 

It was her pride 

Our bond

Now losing my hair 

Gently 

Carefully 

I caress my own hair 

Knowing 

It was my pride as well 

Hoping 

Our bond is still there