on sundays my mother would sigh
sit me down between her firm brown legs
unfurl my braids a forest of jet black tangled
roots and roses her slight cool fingers pruning
slick with grease the mist of water like a bruise
to an ache hours later I’d rise graceless, still a child
from her body yet again her palm pressed gently
in benediction against the crown of my tender head
a silent blessing I’d carry fearlessly on chubby
unscarred legs through the world
I never knew how jealous mummy was of her love
the ways she would beg god to keep me when she could not
how she bartered her own joy so mine
would be unstinting
her heart so tender she could not bear to hold me
outside those few hours each week when she’d worship my head
even now when I touch my head
it’s cool black coil the living cells coupled together
its own fevered prayerful country
I feel mummy’s hand pressed against mine
singing to me and I call back to her
loud and bold my voice red in its blues
we’ve got to hold each other remind ourselves
that touch is a shameless fire an imperfect balm
Saida Agostini is a queer Afro-Guyanese poet whose work explores how Black folks harness mythology to enter the fantastic. Her work is featured or forthcoming in the Academy of American Poets’ Poem a Day, Poet Lore, Plume, amongst others. Saida’s work can be found in several anthologies, including Not Without Our Laughter: Poems of Humor, Sexuality and Joy. Her first full length collection let the dead in was released by Alan Squire Publishing (March 2022). A Cave Canem Graduate Fellow, Saida is a two-time Pushcart Prize Nominee and Best of the Net Finalist. She lives online at www.saidaagostini.com.
