Here, all the girls have small bones,
the smallest, the languor of yellow scarves
and spelling bees. I am trying out the limbs,
the asphalt. The day gives things names and I
hide them beneath my skirt. To be expected,
there are the usual accidents on train tracks,
in third floor bathrooms. Nothing can be assumed.
I was a mouth and the worry came to me.
I was gingered and soft like a pear.
