we went to the beautiful store
to get our faces made into needle points.
future can fold into cream
& into a knife. sometimes
i punch the blush into my face.
there is the blood beneath
the surface. the moon is an organ.
cut open, it spills like a thumb.
i always wanted a mirror to hold me
in my most miniature form.
here i am small enough to slip
into your back pocket. powder.
a new purse. pickle jar full of tongues.
mine molts over & over. what is
& isn't worth cutting a finger off for?
i look & i see a girl whose head
got sacrificed for a good harvest.
each year the crops grow back as
little compacts where there used to be
peaches. i picked & picked until
my skin was fuzzy as the fruit.
to have a girlhood is to be schooled
in the art of checking. all genders
have their girlhoods, only some
are more inferno than others. sometimes
the burning is brilliant. here i am
the size of a cherry. the size of
a rear view mirror. then, on the worst day,
here i am the size of the sun.