my seven year old sister self
wears the braid i weaved in her hair
even the next day, shadow
of my hands’ work tousling
halo-like around her head. her curls fall
everywhere, like footsteps. (like rain.)
she tells me she wishes her hair was straight
and i say
                it’s like  
                           putting a minefield to sleep
                           asking a flower to kneel
                           naming another body flat
                           pressing god’s eyes shut       

i once did too