Crown
Me: Momma. I want dreadlocks.
Momma: What for? You already got a crown.
This book is an offering. A collection of jewels. A crown of thorns. A drop of see/sea water for the thirsty soul. A swallow. Salty tears. Blue-bird feathers. Grounding. Sapling. Roots (shall find/follow me . . . )
In the beginning was the word. Before I wrote any words in this book. I heard my bird. Felt her feet perched in my crown. Before i knew myself, I knew my momma. my momma said she would/wood never leave me (all the days of my life . . . ) She is the words/spirit in which I write. Words are were I most find me. (where do you find yourself?)
Crown ain't got nothing to do with royalty. No kings and queens. Nobody above or below me/us. Not for me. Crown is different for everybody/tree. Crown got everything to do with get down (roots.) Crown is always growing up (like trees said.) Writing (like pencil-lead.) Dreaming (wind/water said.) Crown is bird's nest. A seeking. Of higher ground. Heavy is the head...