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                                15 
                                  Minutes  
                               
                              It's 
                                cold. Shivering, I turn the brass knobs, 
                                Cursing myself for undressing so quickly 
                                I step into the shower; the water is still cold. 
                                Finally, the temperature adjusts. 
                                I look over each bottle and choose carefully 
                                running the ivory bar over my body. 
                                I explore every curve, every imperfection, 
                                and at this moment I hate myself. 
                                Red dances inside a golden ring, mixing with used 
                                water 
                                and I wonder when it will stop. 
                                I scrub myself of all the filth that builds up 
                                on me. 
                                Closing my eyes, I lean back 
                                against the green and white tiled wall 
                                letting the water run over me and I feel secure, 
                                almost spiritual, 
                                tucked away in my secret temple. Reality slips 
                                from my memory, 
                                and I no longer worry about the man who left us, 
                                the sister who ran away or the rest of my life. 
                                I've heard it said that water symbolizes rebirth, 
                                but to me it means safety. Briefly, I'm protected. 
                                15 
                                minutes a day I'm free. 
                                
                              Paper 
                                Clip Poem 
                              You 
                                use me like a pen 
                                and suck up all my ink. 
                                I break like a pencil point 
                                before I have time to think. 
                                I drift like a piece of loose-leaf 
                                fallen in a puddle of rain. 
                                Constant sinner, secret forgiver 
                                nurturing the blame. 
                                My whited-out heart has forever dried 
                                now caked and cracked to pieces. 
                                I paperclip myself together 
                                wrinkled 
                                soul still creases. 
                                
                              Genie 
                                Giaimo is a senior at Tottenville High School 
                                in Staten Island, New York. She received a Bread 
                                Loaf Young Writers Fellowship for her short story, 
                                "Judith." Her prize-winning poem, "15 
                                Minutes," is forthcoming in the anthology, 
                                A CELEBRATION OF YOUNG POETS, published by Creative 
                                Communication, an organization devoted to the 
                                promotion of Language Arts in our schools. 
                                
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