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I Want My Pubes Back

I Want My Pubes Back

I Want My Pubes Back

A Poem by Alison Landes

The right horse on the merry go round is never 

real, and laughs like the first boy who touched me. 

He looked at me like what is this place, 

and said as much to his friends. My body has a zip code 

he will not write down; he says I 

take up too much space. I smile politely and

cut myself shaving what I can.


I get the role. The next time we are together

he is relieved: I am vulnerable and naked, 

a little girl with big eyes. We see my father in

the parking lot and when I say he is in my math class

he almost stifles a laugh. He is nineteen but 

does not know the slope of my throat. 

We are lines that do not intersect. There are no 

plus signs here, just the twin parentheses of his eyes, 

multiplying nothing.


I have finally forgotten his name, I think,

until the diver of my mind gasps, holds it out to me.

When I am old, I hope my memory betrays the 

right things. I hope this razor gets lost in time

and a neon light appears in its place. I hope I wear it.

I will be a dive bar, a bonsai tree, a yellowing field, anything but

your parking lot. Cement is for some girls but 

not me. I want to give out seeds for Christmas and

name my daughters Eve, who find the last things 

growing, who start a garden.


I will parallel park in my own arms before I am bare

again. I will sell my car to the highest bidder, even

dogs who have learned to drive. I will go back in time,

collect every hair from every tile and 

make a blanket of it all. I will sell that too,

to the first man who looks at me wrong. I might charge him

his smile.

Adelante (Onward)

Adelante (Onward)

The Pink Envelope

The Pink Envelope