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michelle agaron | Fall 2021

Lower the scalpel and forget this rotten project of yours.
Forget tracing the bridge and hoping to find straight edges
and contentment beneath your fingers, forget what is palatable
in the name of formulaic femininity, forget the monster who
appears in the mirror when you mistake human for grotesque,
forget the world and its endless array of machinery, molds and polished stone,
forgive the girl who will still try to carve a sculpture out of imperfect bone.