Patas de Estropajo

My legs

so hairy.

Long and wiry

my hair. Before

I used Nair, used a blade

to my fuzz, I fought for my hair.

This chica in my middle

school- she had hair long as a mane.

Yoli

se llamaba,

she didn’t like me

and she liked my hairiness even less.

Don’t know what

or how my hairy mess

messed with her.

Fuzzy upper lip,

already mentioned her mane

and arms just as furry as mine

but she was lighter

so hers looked thick

like espinas de nopal.

Hair a thorn on her side

and she took it out on my

on me on mine- hair.

So fine and light, airy almost

never bothered me

until she started airing my business

drawing attention to my…

getting attention from my…

feeling better at my-

expensive, she cost me a lot

of time and frustration. Nervousness

during P.E. cause I knew

she’d see me

in my green with gold trimmed school

shorts and launch her words

that crawled up my spine

like an army of ants

me trying to resist

not to itch.

I resisted

the anger

and churned it into shame.

Things got slippery for me

didn’t feel good in my skin

in fact I shaved part of my skin

off trying to change me.

My little ankle

round como semilla de durazno

not ready for the steal

my hand not rehearsed

didn't hold still

and I peeled

I saw it crinkle like a carrot’s

and then my skin turned white

as a bar of soap and white dots

burst like raspberries. I tried

to stretch my tiny thin

skin out gently

over the bursts of velvety

blood snailing its way down

to the tub then rolling down

its side like an avalanche

till it faded out into the water

then down the drain. I put the blade down

my ankle stung and my wet skin

got goose bumps.

My ankle stung for the rest

of my shower. I wasn’t successful

at getting rid of my hair not as successful

as her words getting under my skin

now exposed. I felt exposed. No one

knew about my cut but it was my marker

that I wanted to change me.

Her words made me want to change me.

She chased me for the last time on the courtyard.

That P.E. day marked the beginning of our truce.

But not before I took her down by her long thick

braid, I pulled so hard my monkey-bars callouses hurt.

We went down to the bumpy ground, tiny rocks

dug into my knees but I didn’t want to let

go, rip her skin like I ripped mine! I didn’t have it in me-

I was scared, terrified of letting go

and not knowing what she would do to me.

I didn’t let go till my favorite coach set me free

with his words, pretty puckered lips pocked out from

that goat-tee the color of powdered sugar

drizzled over hot chocolate, and I looked into his eyes

his curly eyelashes always seemed to wave at me.

Except this time,

they looked more like a dying butterfly.

He was disappointed in me. But

when I told him my story

about my acting out of self defense

he almost looked proud.

He told me “never change yourself

for anyone.”

I still learned to shave though

liked the feel of my slick

skin

but also the nakedness

of my legs. I was so proud

and appreciated them bare.

But year after year of doing it

I can barely keep up

went low maintenance,

drought tolerant,

hair tolerant.

I went back to how I was

to treating my hair like hair

not a measure who

or what I am.

Hairy arms,

face framed by

peppered side burns and fuzzy

cheeks.

Again, my legs patas de estropajo

when the wind

plays with it extra long

as if teasing it- my hair

gets curled up…

como un smile. My hair

feels alive slow moving

like snail’s tentacles.