New Balance

NB| 1

  AMARA was still—a sense of calmness taking control of her body. The Lotus and White Musk incense burned in the corner of her room, aiding her in self-awareness. Her breaths were deep as she rested in the Balasana pose. Tension released itself from her body as she stretched her muscles and relaxed her mind. This is when Amara felt the most at peace—in a silent and calm environment.

  Easing from her position, Amara adjusted her headwrap. Two long, natural locs rested on the sides of her face. She hummed to herself as she tended to the small, growing plants on her windowsill. She'd opened it—allowing the sun and the inviting aroma of nature to flow into her bedroom. The slight breeze created goosebumps on her smooth, golden skin.

  "Nani," She heard her mother's voice, "May I come in?"

  "Of course," Amara responded, followed by the door opening.

  "I haven't seen you all day," She smiled, adjusting the capulana that draped across her chest, "Give me love, please."

Amara smiled as she headed towards her mother and carefully embraced her—not wanting to wake the sleeping newborn, "Hi, Mama."

Simone is the embodiment of a black woman—a black mother. Her words were loving and uplifting. Her voice is calm, yet assertive. Amara's parents instilled in Amara the power behind her blackness—embracing their culture and learning to break curses for future generations. Simone was passionate about many things, but her children were at the top of that list.

"It smells good in here," Simone complimented, "Did you do yoga without me?"

"No," Amara grimaced, as Simone raised her eyebrow, "Yes. That's because you and Nya have been gone all morning, Mama." She referred to her sister.

"You could have waited, Nani," Simone pouted, staring at the newborn as she began crying, "I know, baby. She didn't wait for us."

"Dramatic," Amara laughed, "Let me see her, please."

Simone unfastened the capulana and handed the baby to her. She watched as Amara calmed her sister down—gently using her hands to rub the perimeter of her face, "I gave birth to the same baby, twice."

"Honestly," Amara laughed, looking at her sister, "She looks more like me than me."

Amara took her finger, gently using it to smooth her sister's hair. She smiled, opening her eyes, "Hi, pretty girl. I love you."

Simone watched from afar, listening to Amara speak to her. Amara was her gentle child—never too rough with anything meant to be taken good care of. It warmed her heart at the sight of her children's bond, which continued outside of the womb, "Do you want to keep her while I cook? Daddy should be coming home in a few hours, so it shouldn't be too long."

"Of course," Amara nodded, "I can keep her during the night, too. I don't have class tomorrow."

"I'm taking that offer," Simone stood up, kissing her daughter's head, "I'll call you when the food's ready."

"Okay," Amara smiled, watching as her mom walked out of her room, "What do you want to do, Fat girl?" Amara rested against the headboard, placing the baby on her legs. Nyala stared at her with wide eyes, a small smile forming, "You want to listen to Lauryn Hill or Cleo Sol? Blink once for Lauryn and twice for Cleo." She waited, laughing as Nyala blinked one time, "Lauryn it is."