She wished for red and black lines, made of government confidential ink
She wished for hair follicles pushing through, and energy, and warmth
That kind of art takes a while
They don’t tell you about the minutes
How can they?
But my Mom’s a queen and a priestess
and will not be settled upon
by cancer cells
by chemo
by sickness in general
seeking after her peace
like display steak at a specialty butcher
So we joined the battle
solidarity came through
Fighting like warriors
Hairs like soldiers
Going to war
Dora Milaje
Adored One
We wished for red hair and black lines, colored by the imagination of a designer
We wished her hair follicle rebirth abundantly proving victory
That kind of healing takes a while
They don’t tell you about the laughter
How can they?
Because my Mom’s a queen and a priestess
and will not be settled upon
by doubt
by loneliness
by fear
seeking to unnerve
the joy so readily abounding in her
So we joined the battle
Solidarity came through
Fighting like warriors
Hairs like soldiers
Going to war
Dora Milaje
Adored One
The royalty of her humility is only matched by the power of her spirit
We wished for Black Panther tattoos to show the battle
That kind of warring takes a while
They don’t tell you about the conflict
How can they?
Because my Mom’s a queen and a priestess
and will not be settled upon
by unloving thoughts
by uncaring hands
by misguided words
selfishly trying to quelch
the immovable truth of her goldenness
So we joined the battle
Solidarity came through
Fighting like warriors
Hairs like soldiers
Going to war
Dora Milaje
Adored One
Ask my Mom how’s she’s fighting cancer? She’ll say, “Like a warrior.” #wakandaforever #solidaritymeanscoldscalpsinNovember