She’s been gone for two months now,
honestly thin-hipped
blades of back
barely surviving
lost in a body
defined by society
All she can manage to lick
are apple slices
rice grains without butter
the cone of an ice cream
Bones jutting like an unraveled accordion
No longer insulation
for her own voice
Silently
being deleted
one body part
at a time
heart shrinking
she is ripped red
like strung garland
torn from wooden rafters
strips of tinsel
hanging.
* * *
I know her new cloud high above
peaking with wide-eyed water vapor
will tell other girls
to count quality and not calories
to wear another size than XXS or double-zero
to understand that a BMI calculator
does not measure personality.
And she will savor
each bite of sun,
unveiling moon,
for late-night dessert.