Nervousness crumples her temple,
her eyebrows pinch at the tingling pain
from her head as her mother finishes up

the
Two coils of thick ebony hair weaving their way over her shoulders.

She tugs them with her restless hands
and throws them over her shoulders.
Reluctantly, she enters the arena.

As the singers start,
she moves effortlessly along,
a dream.

Her feet step with grace, harmony, and a rhythmic unison
to the sacred drumming.

Abruptly, something inside her
awakens,
and an unexpected smile crawls gradually onto her face,
her shadowed eyes are no longer dim,
instead they reflect an assuring flame.

Her curious hands mingle and tease
her pow-wow braids, her hair
the color of shiny raven feathers.

She cannot help feeling a love for her people,
an appreciation for herself,
and a pride in the

two coils of dense ebony hair
weaving their way
from the crown of her head,
down the curl of her back,
over the sturdiness of her shoulders,
and into the sincerity of her heart.