dear department store

my girlhood comes plastic & sweet.
the mirrors get taller the longer
i eat them. outside my mother is
feeding me pants 
in larger & larger sizes. 
i show her & she says,
"almost. almost."
we are disciples of "almost." 
almost enough time. almost enough
money to buy a gender. 
over the loudspeaker everyone is god.
everyone is a pile of trying.
we never used to try to be beautiful
& i hated it. my eyes experiencing mitosis.
more & more places to try & look.
my skin, a carnival of fear.
in the dressing room i become
less & less sure of what a body
is supposed to be. i imagine
wearing trash bags. 
i picture myself in nothing
but a pillowcase. feathers 
in my mouth. feathers
in the trashcan. we are shopping
for a little self to put me in 
to go to school this year. 
i do not want to be older
& at the same time i want to be
the oldest person alive.
let me drive an ice cream truck. let me
choose a new name. 
a new body. it doesn't work like that.
there are items to purchase.
tags to clip off. a mirror to finish eating.
the taste of sugar & iron. 
my mom's gentle knock
on the door as she would ask
"are you done?"
i always appreciated
the knowing in her voice.
the way sometimes we tell 
one another we are sorry
with just a soft voice.