Hair Relaxer: an Origin Story

You came into this world, creamy--full of alkali and burn,
like a baby born of hard labor. Ruler of all things straight 
and acceptable. You made kinky your nemesis, fought

genetic bend of curls. Cold lotions brush-stroked the Afro 
on our heads inside of our hearts to bloom. Wait for it... 
scratch of matchsticks ignited on the scalp. Wait for it...

sting of water pressure on the fleshy bottom of new scabs. 
I was seven when it first happened to me. Told mama, 
I wanted my hair to swing like the white girls in my school!

I cried at the shampoo bowl, thought pain would make me 
beautiful. Learned to suck it up, keep it in, tucked and folded 
like origami. Blow dryer wiped those tears away. Salon girl

said, Ohhh, we got it so straight this time! Singe, on the teeth 
of a hot comb forged from the European Gods of smooth metal. 
Swipe from root to unruly tip. Rise of smoke--from the kindling

of burnt black hair. Rise of smoke--smogging the salons and
kitchens from coarse haired daughters and mothers. Rise of smoke-- 
from the altar of our vanity. All the wavy hair I broke like the back

of a slave into submission, into black yarn I knew inside me grew 
to find my way out of this chemical labyrinth. Out of wanting boys 
to glide their wanting hands through my straight hair, out of my

own Minotaur of self-hatred, but I slayed the beast of pretty! 
Took my hair inch by inch like the yarn of Theseus to find my 
way back to my little self, back to my baby pictures with a fro-pik

in my hair, to the bounce, the spring in every coil. Rain, I am not 
afraid of you. Let the water take me back to curls. Let the water 
be gospel, brown hydrangea, my grandmother's silver cotton boll,

my auntie's cornrows, my mother's hands kneading almond oil 
in my scalp like coating a cast iron pan to shiny black patina. I came 
into this world greasy, full of thick psalms. Let the water take me back.