Hairs/ Mountains Poem by Areese Woodson

Day are these woman...
Mountains latched together.

My sister is the first -
A stretched one.
Her feet -
Atop a mountain.
Winds blow
And her hairs try to join them,
But too much -
They mirror her.
Trapped like fire
In wood's clutches,
They and her mountain always bumped heads.

Another sister -
A long one.
Her feet -
Upon a mountain top.
She always wears a hat
So her hairs will stay.
Sticky tears walk down each face.

I stand on a mountain too,
But its not tall enough for them.
So up -
They stay,
And like night...
They're the last anyone wishes to see.