little lady

what's it like to be so tiny?
with bean pole wrists and a long curved neck
like all the great poems describe?
a featherweight waist and martini glass breasts
what's it like to be so very,
very small?
the chiseled jaw-line and aquiline nose...
are your eyes really that big or is it
illusion as they perch, doe-like, over
high bones on gaunt cheeks?
and those ankles!
they could break like glass, like sugar!
in those teetery high heels
after only one gimlet
("but a double!" you insist).
i wonder how it feels to be smaller
than every man you meet
would i be (more) afraid, or would it be nice
to feel big arms around me
and to know i could be easily carried home
if i did fall down in those
impossible stilettos. those
twizzly shoes from a shop that
looks like a bright delicious candy store
from the outside looking in.
i think about those slender fingers:
they would be chilly, if they touched me.
rings would fall off if you didn't get them sized
and your thighs must never rub together
so your jeans don't grow thin in patches there.
your jeans could last your whole life!
probably everyone thinks you don't eat or throw up what you do
eat and maybe that annoys you or maybe it thrills you
but either way you
know this is just how you were meant to be.
so tiny. a silhouette of a bird creature.
silky soft and leafy light.
folded up in a window sill,
apt to take flight.