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The Art of Shaving
Before I had a boyfriend
I shaved my legs in the shower
As an excuse
To stand under the pounding water seconds longer
And I wielded a razor
With the little skill
I gave up on shaving that lower part of my leg
After weeks of band-aids and blood on the bathroom floor
I didn’t think anyone would notice the hair
That might protect me from Paris’ arrow
Today, I dip my head downward
Looking at the pointed dark hair bowing toward my nipples
Letting my wet hair drip onto my small breasts
(Pushed up by my folded arms)
Dusted with dark Jewish hair
I curse my ancestral roots for my genome
Vowing to erase the vicious arrangement of DNA bases
To be womanly.
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