before the service starts
my sister pulls the girl aside
want me to do your hair?
no girl should be so happy
to say yes
to this question
She takes her to the ante office
the singing muffled
through the walls of sanctuary
she removes the filthy coat
as if it is a royal robe
and the hair tells its story
noxious, fibrous, cloud
her mother has no time for things
(she is not a thing)
Sit here
My sister pulls tools
from the cabinet
straddles the girl’s torso
with skirted thighs
a warm recliner
oils and pieces of plastic
pass through her hands
my sister combs the chaos
wrapping the knotted parts
around her slick hands
so it will not hurt
separates the hair
micro-acre by micro-acre
massage the strands
anoint the scalp with oil
and give a blessing
your hair is beautiful
the girl's head sways
with the combing
and the braiding
a trance meditation
until
a gentle push
of the shoulder says
the sermon is over
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