Real Hair

The black man who stopped, said

“Forgive me, but you have real hair

I don’t see that often

& it’s beautiful”

I had it up in twin tails,

how I learned to wear my mask, so the loops 
would go over my hair & not my ears

didn’t say it till he saw it from the back

I glowed at the compliment
& laughed, cause I thought

he probably knew it was real because I 

didn’t get the part straight in back

all zig-zagged & imperfect:
that’s beautiful.
not unfrizzed, not commercial shiny, 
mussed up by the wind & the day

more like a dandelion in a concrete crack, 

a twisted branch with a dragon’s face, 

a cloud shifting in the sky

true things, themselves

without even trying