Literature doesn’t depict women shaving their legs.
                (from a lecture on literary theory)

I. RAZOR BLADE

a puppy licks the woman’s calves
gnaws with sharp little teeth
the bone overgrown with grass
leaving a red rash
on the other side
of skin

a cat sleeps in the woman’s underarm
occasionally plucking at hairs
the woman, framed by nylon, foam
face towels and a realm of shadows
paints a portrait of someone similar to herself
(while the little jars of paint quietly wane)
the bathroom changes the woman
the clock strikes
the mirror nods
– now you can go.
returned home, the woman
washes off the salts of sweat
chases away the eye’s shadows
removes the lips’ gloss
in the loneliest of rooms
she releases the water, the body herded all day,
the cat and the dog
to graze in the grass


II. RAZOR BLADE

a scythe, plucking the calf’s clovers
a vacuum cleaner sucking up the downy hairs
a rowboat, its oars scraping the surface of spreading veins

a skeleton with a scythe, “from dust to dust”, Greek rivers
of the underworld –
to shave one’s legs – almost to die –
death is a woman
who shaves her armpits and legs

it waves no scythe but a razor
turning people into leg wax
singing joyously:

I’m your Venus! I’m your fire, at your desire!