girlish

her eyes like pinholes, small and dangerous
for sewing machines -- she sucks in her stomach
and proceeds to the end of the lunch line
again and again. she’s never hungry.
with each passing minute, her pupils dilate
into stars and flowers, change color from blue
to purple to opal -- she is a gemstone lady,
with her insides stretched over a jeweler’s
steady hand; he will make her beautiful,
no longer a threat to those who create,
with tiny irises the color of morning lilies,
with that slowly shrinking self, left all skin
draped over a skeleton, but now polished,
the most refined, an image of emaciation.
(she never becomes the girl she wants to be.)