HERITAGE

I remember when you would force my hair into submission, the unruly fingers of my curls snapping fine tooth combs in half as if mocking you for even trying.

I remember when you would smother my curls with coconut cream, smooth black castor oil over my scalp, rake your fingers through my coils, coax them into braids.

Once, it was your mother doing the same for you, smothering and smoothing raking and braiding.

She taught you the rhythm of our hair so you could do mine, and when her fingers failed and her mind too, you could do the same for her, hair just like mine but silver and brittle.

I wonder when your fingers will fail, when it will be my turn to smother and smooth and rake and braid the way you did hers the way you did mine.

A Distant Memory photographic film