(from Shira Lipkin’s The Changeling’s Lament:)
When I was little,
I asked my alleged mother,
what’s a girl?
She said
you,
you’re a girl,
and she laced me into dresses
(that I tore off in the school parking lot,
in line for the bus).
Laced me into ballet shoes
that left blisters
and bloodied my feet
until I had calluses.
Which she had filed off,
beauticians
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