Crow black
cascading down her back
like kelp massaged
by the sea

braids to her waist—
grown ‘em all my life,
she says to the hoots
of other Black girls
in my classroom
who pooh-pooh
that notion

hair’ll break it gets
that long—gotta be
extensions

Decades later
I stand on a trail
overlooking an
ocean cove,
transfixed by
by long swaths
of kelp curling
and uncurling
like noodles

and I see
Anastasia unfurling
her braids after
class one day,
opening them plait
by plait, letting
the tight curls
tumble down
her back

swaying like
seaweed
undulating
atop the
navy blue

all of it natural,
as real as it gets,
she tells the doubters
running their fingers
through her cascade
of curls,

the chorus of
the converted,
joy ricocheting
off classroom
walls—

Girl! This all yo hair?
Dayum!
This all yo hair!