: Epidemic :


by Alessandra Lynch


Thin women are trooping over hills, through
fields & rivers. They splinter as they stride, narrow
between trees & sparkling. Their eyes harder

than glass, than bone. Women trooping, brushing
gainst railings & mirrors, you would think their elbows
could cut through iron & glass, but iron & glass are

smarting their calves & thighs & necks & lips.
Even the rain is on parade—delicately tinkling
& cutting the women ever-so-lightly as they troop & thin

en masse over bits of glass & diamonds & caulk, bearing
gleaming compacts & glass jars of chalk. A glimmering
glass set—. How brightly the women thin in the gloss—

poised, swallowed by dumb reflective
surfaces with a sheen that stuns—
(0 Shining Epidemic!)

When the sun
drops low & the women lie safely
abed, their skin covered by glittering gauze,

their hard eyes focus solely
on themselves as things that need
thinning, weapons that will harm.