Meatless

The morning I was born,
my mother smashed the mirrors,
and used my chubby cheeks instead.

The morning I was born,
my father ate my fatter parts:
the buttocks, and the thighs.

He left the brain and heart,
of which he did not know.

Assless, cheekless, I floundered
on the carpet.
Remember that coarse matting
with me please.
I was free to think,
and I was free to bleed.

Could I scratch?
Yes, until they cut your nails.

Could I shimmer and shine?
Yes, until they cut your long, blonde hair.

Could I weep?
Yes, until they locked your eyes.

Thanks god for the Christmas tree,
which distracted them briefly,
at each year's end,
from what was left of me.