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Bridget BellLocks
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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