workin on some poetry in 2022. enjoy.
He Told Me I Was Beautiful
When I was small my dad told me I was beautiful.
In the mornings before school, he’d brush my inky black mane into a skin-tight braid. He ran a soft-bristled brush over my hair to flatten all the “lumpy” parts; and struggled to wrap it twice around my thick nomadic hair.
He’d say “In Tibet, girls braid colorful yarn and string into their hair to make it look beautiful.”
Next, he wiped my face from hairline to clavicle with a hot azz washcloth making sure to get the corners of my eyes.
Next, he’d scoop a dime size glob of Ponds’ cream from the jar and aggressively smear it down my face. His hands pulled my cheeks down into Bassett hound jowls. It hurt and i’d howl but the love lingered longer.
Mornings with Dad I could forget, outside, in public, at school - I was an “enemy”, a boater, a foreigner with a funny name and the wrong face.
In the warmth of the washcloth I was loved and that was all I required. I will revel in that love for eternity
He told me I was beautiful.