She borrowed the spoon, certain she would be stuck in the wall.
She’s been overgrown in it before.

Each thumb that curls in is hers
When she’s dancing slow.

In the shower, she ate cookies waiting for shock treatment.
And when she saw herself, the chilled chin to chest

Fists and elbows out, she was at ease.
Fingerprinting her pictures, she frowns on affection.

A large-thighed woman—fallen, boneless—radiates
The language of her crankbox to the sky.

And then she folded for the rest of the fight,
Starving for her intravenous hookup.

Now, she wants the softest cotton and the least amount of noise.
And when she said yes, the whale diminished.