JESSICA LEE MCMILLAN

Money Tree

when I learned to braid
my hair, I knew I could knead 
lengths of my heart 
into intimate blinks,
wing-flits and frizzy kinks,
sunned fuzz on nape;

when braiding into the whole,
I learned how the bold lines
break, the split from origin, 
root tied into plait;

the money tree only stems 
forced to hug;
one may knit self
into browning nodes,
hard arteries,
or slip a few
stray lengths;

the money tree is a heart
gripped before it grows, 
limbs extended
with discipline and risk.