Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Morning Routine, or: How to Bea* a Non-Passing Translady

[This poem first appeared on my poetry blog, but I thought that given the subject material it merited a spot on trans*posing pearls as well.]
  1. Let the water run.
  2. Paste too much shaving cream over the ridges of your face.
  3. Scrape the quickly aging blades over the surface of your skin until the hair is gone.
    Pray you do not bleed.
    Pray you get it all.
  4. Repeat for chest.
  5. Repeat for armpits.
  6. Repeat for belly.
  7. Repeat for legs.
    Pray you do not bleed.
    Pray your skin will not be ravaged like a woman.
  8. Knead foundation into the dough of your flesh.
    Cover the parts that will grow hair by your afternoon coffee two, three times over.
  9. Spread eyeshadow on the window-shades to your soul.
    Create by contrast:
    the darker, the thicker, the better.
    Let the light in.
    Let the light out.
  10. Mascara, eyeliner.
    For the same reasons.
  11. Dust blush on your cheekbones
    and bronzer just under.
    Make the plains of your face into rolling terrains.
    Make someone want to explore the cavern of your lips
    and map the rivers of your laugh lines with sextons and compasses
    and go spelunking in the rock-forests of your soul.
  12. Finally, paint the brink of your mouth in pink.
    Smile.
    Remind the voice in your head that says makeup is a mask that
    your unvarnished face is a mask you've worn too long.
  13. Let the water run.
  14. Scrub your hands clean.
  15. Turn off the water.
  16. Smile.

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