Portfolio of Hope

The things I saw women doing for beauty looked crazy.
My mother, a beautiful woman, got too little of the pleasures that I could understand.

I saw that her beauty hurt her:
teeth-gritting abstinence at celebration dinners,
fury on the scale,
angry rub-downs,
self-accusing photographs,
the small notepad kept by the dishwasher:

1/2 grpfruit.

Blk coff.

4 Wheat Thins.

A black scrawl:


Some memoir.

It would be nice to be beautiful like her, I figured, sure:
nothing about it seemed nice enough to make up for that endless degradation.


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