Washing my Father’s Hair

My father bends low over kitchen sink
I suds small hands with lava soap
feel grit of pumice on fingers
stretch on tiptoe to reach his head
water drips from elbows as I work
lather into sweaty hair coated with grain dust
scrub curls thick as Rex’s coat

Be sure to get the back of my neck, Girlie
I rub hard above the collar
glide bar across the blackened flesh
Where sweat and grease conspire to label
him a dirt farmer

A mole the size of a pencil eraser at the base of his scalp
a glob of shaving cream behind his right ear
sunburned strip around his collar and the bottom
of his forehead where the cap’s shadow ceases
he dunks his head under faucet and rinses soap
shakes his head like a wet dog until water splashes
the clean floor and tickles bare feet
I squeal at the unexpected coolness

He grabs a rag and towels his head, bursts out
clean and presentable for town
turns up hems of blue jeans and ties laces of his good boots
shoves a check blank into his clean shirt pocket

I’ll send you to barber college when I sell the wheat

Copyright Candace Simar
All rights reserved.
No part of this website may be reproduced
in any means, mechanical or electronic,
except brief excerpts used in critical reviews.