A friend planned a morning for my girls,
Shocked at the stop as my world whirls,
A friend with a "saloon" I called next,
Come at 8:30 I saw the text,
Now here I sit for hours on end,
Beautiful women working their hands,
They worship, share posts, sing, laugh,
A cross-section of society on familiar path.
Their work is meaningful, intense time,
Women relaxing, guilt free, it's not a crime.
We're pampered, loved, renewed,
Leave shining and tired, hair knotted or sewd.
They're doing for me what I cannot do,
They're giving me a pause, a new look too.
Now strangers will stop me, delighting in my braids,
I'll make new friends, reveling in the difference it made,
To identify with my hosts in this enriching tradition,
Of weaving, being, beautifying in our daily mission.
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