This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today, Goldberg inspires us to tell about your mother’s hair – or anyone’s, really. I think of the vignette in The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros as I think of this prompt.
my mother’s hair
was never long like
in that picture
of her with that wig
looking all beehive-ish
with the corkscrew finger curls
tumbling down
against her ears
like the swirl
of blackwater swamp
when something’s churning
underneath
my mother’s hair
was never thick like
her laughter
in that picture
in Dad’s arms
head thrown back
in her Georgia back yard
clipped and curled
short and common
like a wood shaving
whittled and whisper-thin
no, my mother’s hair
was never
long and thick
Common Threads 
This poem is so sensual with description. “Wood shaving, whittled and whisper thin” is full of satisfying alliteration. I also love “like the swirl of blackwater swamp when something’s churning.” Delicious metaphor.
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