close shaves with mortality

I felt a funeral on my chin—
A razor, to and fro,
Kept shaving, shaving, till it seemed
The skin was breaking through.

Then, shaving cream depleted,
A faucet like a gun
Kept rinsing, rinsing, till I thought
My hand was going numb.

And then I felt it lift the blade,
And scrape across my lip
With those same teeth of steel again.
My face began to drip

As all the heavens were a bowl,
And shaving but a tear,
And my complexion a disgrace,
Wrecked, solitary, here.


3 Responses to “close shaves with mortality”

  1. 1 jenlinnan January 21, 2007 at 7:39 pm


    This would fit in excellently with the “shaving cream” category on your old blog!

  2. 2 jenlinnan January 25, 2007 at 5:17 pm

    Also, now that I’ve finally figured out why that sounded familiar, gold star for updating Emily Dickinson to an edgier idiom.

  3. 3 Lisa February 10, 2007 at 9:04 pm

    Wow, Jen, gold star for catching the reference and a self-kick in the shin for me for not getting that despite having written a paper on the very poem in an English class sophomore year…

    Sad how quickly four years of pricey higher-education fades away…

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