the smaller galaxy
On the eve of a lunar eclipse and a full moon, the start
of a winter solstice, a woman was getting her first Brazilian.
Certainly, one event had far great implications at its heart,
an intersection of astral alliances not seen for more than
400 years. But on that esthetician’s table, the woman dared
herself to pass through the fire, clamped her teeth against
the pull of warm wax, gave the consent to have her tenderness bared.
And just like that, the sting withdrew, the darkness passed
and she felt, inside the smaller galaxy of her own body,
the shedding of resistance, one last revolt against obscurity.