types of cleansing for 7th grade girls the showers in the middle school locker room poured olive oil, not water. we were the warm bodies of chicken in our plumage uniforms & our fingers knotted in biology. there are always girls with long hair & girls who cut their hair off. the animal inbetween is a mistake. i had a bob-cut in second grade & my hair was slick with running. just one huge room for showers. i would peer in & imagine myself washing, preparing for a stove. the glossy rain coming down in glisten. oil rises to the surface of water like little jewels. when i think about school, i think of several processes to try & feel clean. i pump pink soap into my dry hand. i rub the soap on my airpits--terrified of my own smell. i fill a blue locker with worksheets. i stuff them down & crumple all the papers. my backpack swells full of embryos. in biology we are always working towards a good dissection. pin the worm to the tray. the heart is less pure then we imagined: a dirty bulb underneath the skin. in the largest bathroom stall i hid between classes. i took my own heart out & washing it in the sink. the water came out a light copper color. i am full of maroons. another class took us by the creek. we waded into the watet in old shoes. if no one had been watching i would have poured water over my head. i just dipped my fingers. crayfish are holy & so are ducks. i always go back to that shower though. a huge tile room. it was bigger than my apartment's living room. what would it have been like to bathe there? dripping in sweet bright oils. finger nails glossy & alive. i'd splash water in my face. i'd stare myself down in a mirror until i my mirror-self morphed away from my body. a forced separation. then, returning to class i pressed the two together. a face on top of a face. the mask metaphor is never quite enough. it's more like emobodying a conversation between all your own internal orbits. i grew up though which means i am the same only now no one can tell i'm seeking a fist of pink soap & a plunge in a creek.