The Maynard
Spring 2016

Elana Wolff

Thin Girl

Thin girl says, If the shoe fits it’s stiletto. Stilettos make the leg look lither.

Thin girl stands by the big girls in the shower at the gym, watching the water stroke her skin & bones.

She wonders if she’d be more loveable if her hair were longer.

Some guy shouted Badass on the street the other day. Thin girl heard it Fatass and was sure he was aiming to scathe her.

Thin girl cannot not see the word thin in thinking.

She keeps a large selection of deodorants and colognes > atomizers only. She buys them for their mist.

Thin girl doesn’t believe in diets, only in states-of-mind.

She’d like to become a mother, feel her womb contract and breasts reduce to prunes with every feeding.

She worries about getting pregnant,

lies on her yoga mat, monitors the flatness of her abdomen,

closes her eyes, envisions the spines of compact volumes of poems—

thinness as a metaphor for purity & plenty.

Secretly she purges.

Once upon a time, thin girl’s mother was underweight: that became the standard. Thin girl fears she can’t be under enough.

Voluptuous is an insult.

Thin girl lies awake at night, gazing into thin air—give her this.

She’s scared of losing reason for being,

conjures the power of opposites, coconut-oiled from toe to neck & rapt in a padded blanket.