The Looking Glass

The Looking Glass

"I will not eat," she says,
As she examines her gaunt frame
In the looking glass of her mind.

Like Alice,
She wants to shrink,
Disappear.
She ignores folds of hungry flesh
Hung from bones like meat hooks.

Her breasts
Ripe figs no longer,
They shrivel
On the vine.

Her skeleton beckons,
Perfection.

Travelling backward in time,
Each lost pound
A victory
Forged in the dark mirror
Of her mind.

The thinning hair, decaying tooth
Small fees for her
Eventual rebirth.