What were the requirements when they made her?
Without mirrors, how did a woman
know she was beautiful?
Before there were others,
there was fruit to be picked
leaves to be worn.
Did she dance? What games did she play?
The day came when she was no longer the only one;
her eyes turned green
and she dug lines into her forehad
wathing the next woman
bathe in sun and water.
She felt curvesand the brownness of the body
naked against green, blue and white air.
Her own stinging hands felt
imperfections as she tried to hide her flesh.
Fruit and meat dropped
into a churning, flipping stomach
and she ate alone.
Skin marked by the dragging of her nails
along bare thighs
arms with bones jutting out, eyes pushed back
into her head
and she fed what she knew needed feeding.
When her mouth went dry
and parted lips cracked
the sun set in God’s pink, lovely sky.
The last rays bounced off a sunken stomach
and she snapped fingers off like twigs.
This piece originally appeared in Issue 3 of Left Jab Poetry Magazine, published in May 1997.