Amena Brown Poems

I first noticed you when I was about three. My friends mom carved and twisted you into rows punctuated with tinfoil and beads that was the first time I learned you could swing. I loved you then.

Until grandma tried to get me pretty for church and you would not cooperate so we grazed you up and branded you with a hot iron comb. You fought and you hissed and finally submitted. You laid down, you let us have our way with you. You decided to bend and curl as we instructed you and I felt sorry for you and maybe you felt sorry for me too.
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