She’s been gone for two months now,
honestly thin-hipped
blades of back
barely surviving

lost in a body
defined by society

All she can manage to lick
are apple slices
rice grains without butter
the cone of an ice cream

Bones jutting like an unraveled accordion

No longer insulation
for her own voice

being deleted
one body part
at a time

heart shrinking

she is ripped red
like strung garland
torn from wooden rafters

strips of tinsel


* * *

I know her new cloud high above
peaking with wide-eyed water vapor

will tell other girls

to count quality and not calories
to wear another size than XXS or double-zero
to understand that a BMI calculator
does not measure personality.

And she will savor
each bite of sun,

unveiling moon,
for late-night dessert.