Carly Madison Taylor
Tonight I shave precise like my mother to protect my body from harm
Shaving my legs I am thinking about
shaving my legs: I quit on my armpits a couple
of weeks ago because the hot girl bartender
doesn’t shave them either, my long time
wonder become desire to become.
That hair is downy soft, darker copper
than my head’s. I use a men’s razor.
Wear men’s deodorant. My vulva has worn
mustaches more elaborate than Groucho Marx.
Shaving my legs I am thinking about
my mother shaving her legs. My mother
shaving her legs. We were bath time mermaids
we were caring for our bodies, she said
I should know what my body looks like
because if I know it, I can protect it from harm.
As though if I know it, I can protect it from harm.
My mother’s knees and ankles are small
cathedrals of tendon and bone. Her tan
rose windowed by freckles. Her body the body
for which I prayed and prayed.
She shaves her legs precise. I don’t.
Except tonight, when I haven’t shaved my armpits
and I’m waiting on my vulva till the night before
my lover gets home, the scratch and itch
of after sex on newly bare skin worth the flicks
of tongue and rush of purposeful
invitation. Tonight I shave my legs
like a wire walker. I know I have thought myself
into this worship of one kind of beauty
with its limits and its bias and its rules.
I know I am choosing my own subjugation.
The scars and stretch marks and the right big toe
with its trapezoid nail: my rooster claw. Two
birthmarks on one thigh. I decorate this house
around its architecture and sometimes I shave
precise like my mother. I once watched her
cut her Achilles, bleeding wet tie-dye.
She told me it’s an easy place to slice
an easy mistake. She bared her teeth. I perched
on the edge of the tub by the faucet, legs splayed,
the water too hot for my little frog body.
I now soak as hot, as long as I can stand. I taught
myself to shave the folds of my genitals bare
and never once made myself bleed, but my ankles
are iced roads, earthquakes, tie-dyed.
shaving my legs: I quit on my armpits a couple
of weeks ago because the hot girl bartender
doesn’t shave them either, my long time
wonder become desire to become.
That hair is downy soft, darker copper
than my head’s. I use a men’s razor.
Wear men’s deodorant. My vulva has worn
mustaches more elaborate than Groucho Marx.
Shaving my legs I am thinking about
my mother shaving her legs. My mother
shaving her legs. We were bath time mermaids
we were caring for our bodies, she said
I should know what my body looks like
because if I know it, I can protect it from harm.
As though if I know it, I can protect it from harm.
My mother’s knees and ankles are small
cathedrals of tendon and bone. Her tan
rose windowed by freckles. Her body the body
for which I prayed and prayed.
She shaves her legs precise. I don’t.
Except tonight, when I haven’t shaved my armpits
and I’m waiting on my vulva till the night before
my lover gets home, the scratch and itch
of after sex on newly bare skin worth the flicks
of tongue and rush of purposeful
invitation. Tonight I shave my legs
like a wire walker. I know I have thought myself
into this worship of one kind of beauty
with its limits and its bias and its rules.
I know I am choosing my own subjugation.
The scars and stretch marks and the right big toe
with its trapezoid nail: my rooster claw. Two
birthmarks on one thigh. I decorate this house
around its architecture and sometimes I shave
precise like my mother. I once watched her
cut her Achilles, bleeding wet tie-dye.
She told me it’s an easy place to slice
an easy mistake. She bared her teeth. I perched
on the edge of the tub by the faucet, legs splayed,
the water too hot for my little frog body.
I now soak as hot, as long as I can stand. I taught
myself to shave the folds of my genitals bare
and never once made myself bleed, but my ankles
are iced roads, earthquakes, tie-dyed.
Biography
|
Carly Madison Taylor (she/hers) is a poet, songwriter, and essayist living in Buffalo, NY. She earned her BA in Creative Writing and Dance Studies from Knox College in 2016. More of her work can be found at or is forthcoming from Rhythm & Bones Lit, PVSSY MAGIC, Electric Moon Literature, Memoir Mixtapes, Blanket Sea Magazine, and Vamp Cat Magazine.
Twitter: carma_t Instagram: car_ma_t Website: https://taylormcarly.wixsite.com/carlymadisontaylor |
