Pretty Is

When she was six years old, she tried to make her hair look like how a friend’s did in school but her coils wouldn’t kink anymore. Her mama caught her and asked her what she was doing. She said: “Making my hair pretty.” Her mama said; “Pretty is fair skin; stay out of the sun. It’s straight hair; turn that iron back on. A straighter nose and thin lips; know you’ll never measure up, but you can at least look good enough.” Years fly and at a family reunion; a teenager now and she invited girlfriends to fool around and cause mischief. They played with each other’s hair, pierced their ears, applied liner, and wondered if the boys at school thought about them, too. Annoyed with their antics, her auntie pulled her aside to scold: “Pretty is quiet, sit down and shut up. It’s dainty, cross your legs and sit tall. A thin frame and all the right curves; well you can’t fix all you’ve got, but you can at least look good enough.” Today, her wedding day, she applied a small amount of makeup, washed her hair and let it go, put on a short, strapless dress just because her mama said “no.” She told herself: “Pretty is my skin and I wanna soak in the sun. It’s my hair; let it curl all it wants. It’s me, myself, and I —I am more than good enough. Black is pretty and that’s something to be proud of. “I am beautiful and that’s something to be proud of.”