I.
When I was a child
I wanted Shirley Temple Curls
but I hated the idea
of sitting there-
vulnerable,
impatient, and itching to run
somewhere-
between
my grandmother's legs,
or in a chair, for hours,
tears threatening
to fall,
a cartoon
watching itself,
fidgeting
and restless,
holding my ears
down
on command,
wanting
to be made
beautiful
but afraid
to be burned.
II.
O how I would die
to be a child again,
listening to the hiss
of the flat iron, my head
leaning against
my grandmother's thigh,
my grandmother alive
and smelling
of coffee,
telling me
for the third time
Hold still.
