Summer of Mary

You taught me how to shave
my legs, the downy almost invisible
blonde strands of silk falling to the
razors swath, the last vestige of a child’s
body helpless against the vanity of a
teenagers critical eye. But I loved you,
that summer, loved your shiny pageboy
flip, your tweezed eyebrows and ice pale
lips. You were sophisticated in a way I
didn’t understand but coveted.
Shaving my legs was only the beginning.

4 thoughts on “Summer of Mary

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