IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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GRASSHOPPER

Marsha Mathews

When I was ten I sneaked a hypodermic needle from my mother's nursing bag, filled it with red food coloring. I went out on the back porch, got the mayonnaise jar, unscrewed the lid, slowly, so I could get my hand in to grab the grasshopper. I injected him. His straw color turned the color of a tangerine and every bit as radiant. I ached for something to inject myself with to make me shine. I took the grasshopper to the meadow back behind the house, and watched him hop away, robbed of natural protection. Same way lipstick and high heels later did me in.

 
 
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