Golden Curls Poem by Melanie Emikohe

His soft golden curls
I brush with my fingertips
So delicate and downy
Just like the petals
In our garden bed
On their way to maturity

I watch him fiddle
With the grains of sand
Mixed with fallen leaves
His thoughts
Too big for him
To be bothered

Somewhere
Many skies and seas away
So I heard
The big one
Is dicing tidbits for the pot
Maybe yes, no?
People and their imaginations...

But how could God allow
That much power into one hand?

Under the waters
Demons are resting
Never asleep
Salivating
The push of a button
So they may exist
Not merely a playground
For giant squids

If only I find pleasure
In fiddling with the grains of sand
So my thoughts are not
Dilly-dallying
In places where they shouldn't be

I think it is unfair
I don't owe anything to anyone
This is our garden,
My flowers.
But someone else who could
And maybe would
Could turn all these beauty
We built
Into ugliness

And those golden curls
I don't trim them
Because they look lovely
Just like that.
I would want them to stay long
Very long
If they could.