she lost 1/18th of herself one day, woke up minus that
slice, such an insignificant fraction, but she immediately
knew what was missing: she’d bragged about it all the
time: trail of tears, indian teeth, my heritage.
she looked for 1/18th of a cherokee at the new
age bookstore but only got tangled in wind
chimes and worry beads and didn’t look very
in touch with her spirit guide.
then she tried the jeep dealership but realized all their cherokees
were made out of plastic; she thought she found herself in
a cigar store; a movie theater; a mirror. in vain.
she finally found herself along route 66 giving
head to truckers in exchange for natural
light; 1/18th of her size 18 self was a size 1 so
men loved her: she was so flimsy and insubstantial
they could bend her like a
promise.
