I finally got rid of
The fake curves of my eyebrows.
Threading and plucking hurts, and
I don’t want to make a fake show
Of features I don’t own.
I thought it was an act of self-love.
What was the point of that painful arch?
Women have been on a forward march
To be as they are.
For two years I gave my face grace.
Natural eyebrows happily grew in place
And if I trace their shape
They are a messy line.
For me this is just fine.
But my almost feminist mother was aghast.
She thought this phase wouldn’t last.
She exclaimed “Your eyebrows are like book shelves!”
And I had to take deep breaths and dig
In the depths of our social conditioning
To think of a comeback with some zing.
“Mom, here’s the thing.
The point of perfectly arched brows
Is that it shows women in a certain way,
A permanent look of gently surprised orgasmic delight
So that we appear non-threatening, sensual and lady like
For men . . .
This isn’t just framing our face well,
It is a nod to patriarchy, can’t you tell? “
And ever since then
Mom’s grown out her brows on her own
And hers too have shown
Their true shape.
If mine are messy bushy shelves
Hers are a chaotic packing tape
But if one were to keep score
We are both somehow prettier than before.