When Papi Combed My Hair

When I was growing up, the child I used to be awakened every morning by the smell of his coffee. Mami would make some breakfast a bowl of cereal would do. She claimed that it would make us strong and help with grades in school. We would hurry to be dressed before we were told twice. The morning ritual would always begin with Papi and his coffee. We would sit very still daring not to move, as he plastered our hair with some Dixie Peach. He combed every strand of our long curly hair, before pulling it back as straight as could be. In a pony or pig tail and tight as it could be For as long as I remember, I will always miss you see The time that Papi combed my hair When a child I used to be.