The gazelle is atop my head,
as I sit in the barber chair.
It munches away at the savannah,
right down to the fleshy soil,
spewing brain chunks from her hungry mouth.
I don’t think you should be doing this,
the gazelle mumbles.
I hear her crunch at mouthfuls of hairy meat.
Don’t marry too late, the gazelle advises.
She thinks she is wise.
But momma told me otherwise.
She warned me of the male lions.
My savannah is almost gone.
They will shun me.
Male lions are cruel animals.
Kill cubs, turn mothers into mates.
Female slaves with extravagant savannahs,
pompous bosoms tenderized.
A fine delicacy.
Everything but the fleshy brains devoured.
I catch a glimpse of childhood.
I gaze at Anitka in the stylist’s mirror.
Her small hands push the overgrown savannah
out of her fragile face. Wild.
Anitka’s eyes wave goodbye.
I cry for my youth to remain,
but she is swept away by the tide of the Amazon.
The grassland up top is now cropped.
Sparkling waters within my eyes,
chiseled cheekbones, pink and plump.
A distinct jaw defines small precious lips,
revving, prepared to splash the world
with their spicy grace.
Anita Wota is a 2010 GirlSpeak editor.
