Poetry

Where We Found Our Monastery

My mother doesn’t understand why I like makeup so much. To be honest, I don’t know why either. I tried to write a poem that best depicts my attitude towards it.

We found religion behind

the makeup aisle with our knees

knelt, pressed into

the drugstore’s dirt floor

heads bowed together in solemn

over plastic bottles and lipstick bullets

haloed under burnt out fluorescents.

 

Our mothers called it witchcraft

our vanities the sites of idol worship

praying to arched brows and

lacquered lips for peace

between our bodies and ourselves.

 

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