This said around the same time I asked Eric to shave my head.
an inch long sprout dyed bright red like a rose
Because it was the opposite of what I was supposed to do.
a cool closeness I’d never felt when water slipped over my scalp
It bothered me that I hadn’t experienced such simple rawness before.
acquaintances asked my close friends, Is she depressed?
Eric wanted to take androgynous nude photos of me. I let him.
especially in all this hot weather.
I like old photos of her, the straight lines of blond hair
I see her, younger than I am now, on the anniversary of Kent State, marching,
She could see a heavy weight of fear carried on his face,
like an underwater mammal
I imagine my own dark hair, unwinding wildly from my head,
the way I surely would have walked beside her, our thoughts in line,
I bought a pink t-shirt printed with a picture of Bush.
My mom asked: Who is your president, then?
on concrete to represent the fallen. It took hours
forming on our lips. Someone’s name and then a breath
My fear is that what my mother said about liberalism and youth
with my face turned up to the sun. I don’t protest anymore.
of all these drawn out fights.
by buzzing my scalp, be born when she was young,
like sturdy ropes we might use
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