LOOKING JUST LIKE MY MAMA

Braids stacked to the sky. Bound by a tight scarf — because these trust issues are intergenerational + this hair cost money.

Draped in her favorite shade of red I pass storefronts moved by my reflection wondering when she passed these curves down to me.

When the width of me became so womanly. Curving like the soft shape of my lips. Today, they are red too.

A rusty earthy hue.

Like the shades she used to wear.

I moisturized my hands at the cross walk and found time standing still — massaging cocoa butter pools into the heat of my palm. Smelling like her Sunday best.

A glow on the skin.

Vaseline to lock it in.

Slick as 7 AM on a school day

I almost missed the bus for.

I remember that this my 23. She was 19.

Had me…

And no time to remember her mother’s favorite color

Or stack her braids with the tightest scarf fresh out the hair salon, because they would’ve cost money she didn’t have. There was no storefront to see herself in on a walk to nowhere in particular. No power to stop time for magic tricking cocoa butter into moisturized skin.

Or imagining the life she would’ve wanted to live at 23. She just had me.

Like I do now.

On this walk to nowhere in particular.

Thinking maybe I should buy something red for her. Maybe then she’ll remember her too.