Hair

The hair in my family defines who we are.  My father's hair is like rocky road ice cream, mostly dark, with little specs of grey hairs sticking out.  His hair is also like Ramen noodles, wavy, but not curly. My sisters hair is brown, like a brownie, but looks like a lion's mane, out of control, but straight. My hair, my hair is like a tree branch long, straight, but curly on the ends . My dogs fur, feels like a dryer sheet, rough. It looks like a lightly toasted marshmallow, white, with golden strands running through her fur.  

But my mother's hair, my mother's hair, like the fashionista she is, styles it every possible way. Her hair is soft like fresh cleaned blankets out of the dryer. Her hair smells of coconuts, but sometimes like lavender. The smell of tropical drinks by the beach. Is the smell when she hugs me so tight. Her hair is the color of butter, soft and smooth to the touch, but also hiding the streaks that have turned brown overtime. Her hair is thin, but also voluminous and straight. Never out of control, like a fire burning inside a fireplace on a cold, winter's night. My mother's hair that smells like coconuts, but sometimes lavender.