What’s the Point of Shaving Legs Anyway?

Hey beautiful people! I’m so happy to have this totally quirky and somewhat spring-like poem up today at BOAAT PRESS.

Enjoy, & check out the other poems, too! Stunning stuff. x

What’s the Point of Shaving Legs Anyway?

Forsythia comes to Massachusetts
like it always does:

in between the sugar maple
and the neighbor’s parked truck.

Never could I stomach
the yellow.

Children of invention:
you’ll be jittery from the adrenaline.

A diver at the platform, arms stretched––
ready to plunge

into my outstretched lungs. This breath
is made of roots

sighing and singing and sleeping.
A footprint from the treetops.

In first grade I learned
the water in my kitchen tap

was what the dinosaurs drank.
How peculiar.

I am most comfortable
when in constant motion––

on the highway
over water, stomping grounds.

Tendrils. Locks. The harbor opens
to a tiled tunnel

that uncovers wounds as they wash through:
the elbow, the knee, the transition places.

Bends I love.

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