first memory

first, the razor
a rite of passage
cut into my memory
fitting because its purpose was 
to give me shape
whisper that secret
my sisters hide behind closed doors
give me white lace not sewn as trim
on dresses for little dolls
i heard the cost is
some amount of blood

i know blood attracts teeth
and i get pinches on my cheeks

so i imitate those strokes
i'd glimpsed that smoothed their legs
and christ, did my shins spill scarlet
next to the cabinet of female curiosities
creating red polka dotted
snow white linoleum sharp
against the black grout i was
making fairy tales

she, wide hipped, sundressed,
laughing from the hall
her smile demoting me again to doll
silly girl, we'll need
a whole box of bandaids
crouching eye level to question
hum and staunch
and take the blade from my
chubby hand
eyes unreadable behind the giant
rose colored lenses of the decade

i don't know why, iris.
i blink and bleed
through the bandages