such profound pronouncements on personal
disfigurement, I wonder if once
you were pretty, perhaps, prepubescent, a child
angry at adults who adored the doll
with all the bumps and scars on the inside.
did friendly hands, friendly eyes, friendly voices
chuck you beneath your chubby chin
look into innocent eyes and lovingly only
see a happy, beautiful baby?
struggling to stifle the screams, the dreams,
labored breath clinging to damp, dying lungs,
I wonder, when you were young, with this limp,
these twisted bones, did loving voices coax you along
give you hope?