I took off my shoes today
to walk down the spine
of a girl who wanted to spend a 
week and four days longer
than she could loving herself.
I don't want to love her
just for the way her hip bones
dwarf the mountain ridges of Appalachia
where she leaned to make
her knees wobble like the rivers
of limestone rock-- I don't
want to know her only by
the brown hair dormant beneath her scalp
like trenches of magma veins.
No--I don't want to love her just 
for her widow's peak still eroded away by
the same un thawing lips of 
amphibian boys who want to be men--
same anorexia spoons to carve out
the gnarled knuckles of
each stream and creek and the sound of 
her own breath at night like sleet.
She took off her shoes today
and she will again and again
because she never needed sandals
or socks or shoes
only her own heels rubbed rugged 
and thick from gravel 
and smooth stones in pockets.