Poetry by Miguel Rodríguez Otero
i love to do my daughter’s hair before school,
give it a little brush, loosen the knots
that form during the night, then maybe braid it
so it looks neat and brand-new.
she’s too young to know,
so i explain to her that braiding is not a tie,
it’s more like a bond that can easily be undone
but is meant to hold the hair together,
like us holding hands to the bus,
untangled and brand-new.
as if together was something permanent
or even desirable.
she complains her hair is too frizzy,
but i’d love her to feel that such a bond exists,
that the connection is real and permanent,
desirable, even if one misses the bus
and is late to class.
the bus pulls up and the door swings open.
my daughter grabs my hand, then tugs me along.
i wave good-bye and await the moment
she comes home for dinner,
clothes dirty and hair all messed up.
Miguel Rodríguez Otero’s poems appear in Red Fern Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, Scapegoat Review, Last Leaves Magazine, The Bluebird Word, DarkWinter Literary Magazine, The RavensPerch and Feminine Collective. He likes walking country roads and is friends with a heron that lives in the marsh near his home.
