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.