By Sirigowri Kambalimath
a ballerina's twirl has somehow coiled its way around my index finger,
and it just sits.
even in its sitting, it
sits delicately, like a fallen leaf
after its brief tango with the wind
like ornamentation was its final stage in life
and it's quite fascinating, really,
how although seemingly stationary
it has created a path around your finger for you to follow,
it is the sun and our eyes are suddenly every planet in the solar system.
my finger is being held by the origins of cursive.
what rests here is the path a dandelion would create,
if its movement was composed by mozart's hand.
and all this isn't even what makes it beautiful.
I can slowly try to comb it flat or straight,
but once it slides out of my fingers it remains just as it was,
like a snake coiling back into itself
wearing stubbornness as a strength.
no matter how much heat you put it through
it is independent and true to its nature
is what I like about curly hair.