Anointing Tangled Hair

I remember when your mother braided my tangled hair.
I wanted my hair to look                                       just like yours,

like golden hay from the summer field.

The same hay that I watched your     little horse chew on endlessly by the pond.

I know that your mother tried               her best to make my hair                      look like a loved bird nest.

But I was not her child.

The love did not pour out upon my head and I could feel her distance as she wished that my hair were cleaner.

These days I find myself searching  for the heads of  motherless children.

 I will braid their hair like summer hay. 

And pray that Love anoints those heads.

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