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April 2013, vol 9, no 1

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Stella Pierides


The Price of Youth

The hairdresser swirls and swings her ample hips to the music, her flesh quivering. I catch my reflection in the mirror, lips hanging downwards, and shocked, I make a conscious effort to lift the corners of my mouth. She swipes a hand-held mirror like a credit card behind my head, beaming, proud of her work. I smile back spontaneously, pleased with her work too.

young again
this old seed-head approaches
a new year




crane