---

The Anthropologist

​If she so desired, she could strip herself invisible
because she can split the delicate tendons between her fingers
just by breathing


and she’s learned that broken bones sound like embarrassment
and pratfalls taste like hospital hallways.


When she inhales, whole cities inside of her collapse
because her ribs are packages wrapped too tightly.

​
When she exhales, the words hamster wheel behind her teeth
because she forgets to let them out.


There is a certain scent to disorder,
to deafening silences between misunderstanding
and cumbersome conversation,
the awkward jut of bone
when she attempts to flee, politely.


She cannot smile on demand
so please do not ask her
if she’s been imagining love for a very long time


because she only cultures loneliness
under ideal conditions
and optimal temperatures.


There is no control.