a brief history of my pubic hair

Poetry
Ann Pedone


Photo Credit: Steve/Flickr (CC-by-nc)

I.

I wanted him to want me more than
his ex I wanted him to keep fucking me maybe even
marry me so I ignored the voices of Gloria Stein
em and Judith Butler in my head and I
did it agreed to be waxed shaved smoothed
plucked and aloe
veraed I spread eagled myself on a table in a strip mall wax
ing center and opened my legs spread my legs held my legs
high behind my head and opened, when asked to, like a butter
fly

I told him it looked liked a drowned rat or a twelve
year old girl I told him I felt like a porn star at least from the
waist down but every month I called in my appoint
ment every month requested the one waxer who made me
feel a bit less uncomfort
able 18 appointments over 18 months until he
left me

my friends scolded me called me a stooge for the patri
archy questioned my feminist loyalties and asked me
how after twelve years of French post-structural post
colonial post-modern critical theory in grad school I could have
done such a thing I felt humiliated duped be
littled like I had succumbed to some
thing that I had vowed to
fight against

II.

six months later in a hotel room some
where on the mid-Peninsula my new boy friend my current
boyfriend asked me if I had ever seen the Courbet painting L’Origine
du monde

full-on center lies a woman stretched out on white
sheets naked mid-thigh to breasts legs open revealing a thing so
weirdly dark so lush and thick almost
irrational in its openness almost
obscene in its mystery so wild with possi
bility that you can’t take your eyes off
of it
right then and there I decided to
let it grow

over the following months I watched it monitored
its progress like a baby’s first steps washed and
dried it after every shower bought pairs of see
through panties so he could see the newly
sprouted hairs peeking through but I was nervous
what was he going to think would he
hate it ask me to shave it off leave me for some
one else

surprisingly it came in curlier than I
remembered looked blonde almost
in the sun light shimmered
like gold dust in the shower
and now it dances
when he is
on top of me
blooms when our bodies meet
is shy when he falls
asleep retains the
deep cypress scent of his skin
alive insatiate
a dark amber dark in the full
watery gathering that is my body

pencil

Ann Pedone is an independent scholar and writer who graduated from Bard College with a degree in English Literature. She has a Master’s degree in Chinese Language and Literature from UC Berkeley. Ann is the author of the chapbook The Bird Happened. More recently her work has recently appeared in Ornery Quarterly, Riggwelter, Main Street Rag, Poet head, and Cathexis Northwest, and The Wax Paper, among others. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Email: ann.pedone[at]gmail.com