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“I HAVE A HAIR IN MY ARMPIT” (14/30)

My 10-year-old niece squeals— half-shock, half-delight—from  inside the bathroom. We inspect. The hair is light, almost a cobweb, not the dark pelt of a woman yet  but it is impossible to ignore how her body is no longer draped as a child. More the scaffolding of a building unfinished. On her chest two doughy coins. The straight  pavement of her legs is beginning to turn. At first, I wanted her  to stay small forever—a girl-Pan curled into a ball of yarn in my lap.  Now, I delight in picturing whose  heart she will swallow first;  the lies she will tell her mothers;  which parts of her body she will  wish to sand down. Born into a forest of women with axes for hands. I can save her from none of this and would I if I could? Smooth the surface, numb her edges. Or, would I rather meet her on the other side of the table, or phone, when someone proves  how edible her heart is or when the dark hounds of our family  finally catch her scent. 

- Sierra DeMulder

Sorry boys, this blog is for Grunge Queens only

♠ 

Word on the street is that everything will be okay

well the streets lied