Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
You knew when you came into my house that life was not just the sugar-taste of L’Oreal hairspray not just the licorice perfume of turpentine. You knew life was not melted gold honeycombing into the mouth lips parting in peach velvet fingertips fingerpainting skin. ((What did you expect me to hold under my fingernails besides the key to the walk-in freezer?)) I was real to you, I am the realest thing you will ever see, as real as the split-end strands of mile-long blue hair I leave in the sink, as real as the Beatles songs I lullaby to you in the hammock haze of September. ((What did you expect me to do besides crack the egg between my teeth and spit it on your palms?)) I have never hurt a man like you, I have never hurt anyone who did not want to be hurt. My thighs are not playground, not guillotine, it is not the thighs that kill you knew this, you knew this when I went home for Christmas and you tucked the key into your thumb you knew this when you promised not to crack any eggs any eggs at all, not to touch the thermostat, not to crumble beer bottles over snakes. ((What did you expect to me to keep clicked under the tongs of the key?)) I was good to you, I am the goodest thing you will ever see, as good as the gluten-free cookies I stocked up on in my cupboard, as good as the nail polish I warmed in your mouth. You knew there was no ice cream no pancake mix no custard in the walk-in, you knew there was no air no oxygen no light in the walk-in, you knew I liked to bite raw eggs that I had bit them all before that there was only raw eggs and shells and teeth and you were only raw eggs and shells and teeth.
*Bluebeard: from the fairy tale of the same name, a man who marries and kills one wife after another.