Issue 169, Spring 2004
Where were you, nymphs,
when I was learning to apply
the proper plaster of Paris and papier-mâché
to fledgling cheekbones?
Where a Nereid when I needed
advice on unguents?
A dryad to calm my riotous nerves
and dye my dulling locks?
An oread to teach the ablutions of adoration?
Sylph, you never paid the parson of insecurity—
where were you when these petty hips
toppled the girlhood world?