Cinnamon sticks flow with long Mocha Swirls.
A god-send from my mother,
From her mother.
This hair of mine

Longer and longer
Yet, growing cumbersome.

A heated child stirs confessing
Shiny sheers
To snip at Mocha Swirls.

Heritage sweet and pure
Shelves succulent breasts
Of the pinkest touch.

Do not swallow both whole,
For they are malignantly bitter.

Grandmother lies still
While mother mammograms.

And I, a god-send delivered
of both
quickly flee

With a meat cleaver
And saw. To disown my heritage.