by Sarah E. Azizi
Some days, I eat whatever
I want: bars of chocolate,
tomatoes soaked in spiced
aioli, prosciutto atop crusty
forbidden bread. I drink coffee
til dusk, stay up all night, sleep
naked, wake well after
the morning news. I miss
appointments. No more
plucked brows or waxed
thighs, I’m ready for new
skin. My hair’s more tinsel
than chestnut; the lines
on my face are finally taking
root. I kept myself hostage
for so long. I’m done
being a pretty girl.
I wanted someone else
to release me, but the row
of hooks & eyes down my spine
would only open at my touch
& tug after all. I fingered
the buttons’ edges, rubbed
their faces, honored
their ability to close or open,
secure or set free. They served
me well, they earned
their keep. I hold myself
so tenderly now. I breathe
deep & make wishes
on the moon. Wine glasses
sans lipstick stains clutter
the counters. There’s dirt
on my feet. I couldn’t
tell you when I last washed
the mirrors.
Sarah E. Azizi is a queer Iranian-American writer, educator, & activist. Previous publications include $pread Magazine, Phoebe: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Feminist Scholarship, 34th Parallel, Blue Mesa Review, Fahmidan Journal, Clean Sheets, red, The Tide Rises, HELD, Wrongdoing Magazine, the winnow, Superpresent, Nine Mile, The Coop, & Free State Review. Her work appears in the anthology Rituals from Bell Press & Not Ghosts but Spirits from Querencia Press. She lives in Albuquerque w/ her daughter & amongst friends, frenemies, & family of choice.
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