Learning Her Braids
Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
He watches the video twice,
parts her hair unevenly,
starts again.
His daughter guards the beads
in a purple bowl
and reports each crooked row
without mercy.
By the third Saturday,
his fingers know the crossing:
over, under,
gentle at the roots.
She runs to the mirror,
turns her head left, then right,
and says, almost casually,
Daddy, you did it.
61 words · 15 lines · Free Verse