Return to Top of Page
Menu
  • Close
  • About Us
  • Contributors
  • Donate
  • Opportunities
  • Staff
  • Submissions
  • 20 Years
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Search Website
Literary Mama
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
  • Departments
  • Blog
  • Newsletter

Poetry | March 2008

Tangled

By Bella Mahaya Carter

When my daughter doesn’t brush her hair
the strands clump into a knot
at the back of her head the size of a softball,
and I go hard inside,
because I’ve told her
a hundred times
to care for herself.
You look like you have no
Mother, I say,
the knot in my stomach
tight as the one in her hair,
as I disappear into memories
of messy-haired girls,
and how my mother and I judged
their mothers.

We are late for school, but still, I brush
my daughter’s hair so she can go to the assembly
and accept her citizenship award
groomed and cared for like the affluent,
only child she is. I say,
This is your job! If you’d brush your
hair every day we wouldn’t be in this mess!
I show her again how to brush
from the bottom up, struggling to use gentle strokes,
as I seethe at every Ouch! and That hurts!

I am unprepared for this,
a daughter
who sometimes doesn’t do what she’s supposed to do,
who is oblivious to what I suppose others will say,
exposing her weakness, her flaws,
ignorant of the dangers
of going out into the world exactly the way she is.

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This Page

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Email
  • Copy Link

Bella Mahaya Carter

Learn More

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Don't miss out on Literary Mama news and updates

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Instagram
  • RSS

© 2023 Literary Mama | Search Site | About Us | Staff | Submissions | Privacy Policy