Fragile:
She’s thin in a hungry way,
and delicate in a sickly way.
She’s unused to how her hips jut out.
They catch the sharp countertop corners.
The pain whistles out of her like the shriek of a teakettle.
Her hip bones are colored with black and purple bruising.
Starvation has tapered her torso,
into the rungs of a ladder and the keys of a piano.
Countless fingers have ascended the ladder in her ribs.
Other times a melody was plinked out.
The cold easily crawls under her collar bone.
It breaks her skeleton and shreds her epidermis.
Curling inward she hugs and comforts her vital organs.
She feels like sticks and paper in the cold.
Handle with care.