January - March 1990
Transference Or My Analyst Has Curly Brown Hair
If I'm supposed to be in a concentration camp or dead, how is it I'm here with you staring into your hair wondering when you'll let them cut it off again?
I hate when you cut your hair, when you let them tamper with your curls. Hair, twisted and coerced into wigs after we're dead.
If we repulsed them, how, then, could they place Jewish curls on their heads?
Can death be brushed out and combed? Numbers carve themselves into my arm. Purple numbers. Touch them. Touch them. -Esther Altshul Helfgott
copyright1990,2005Esther Altshul Helfgott
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