world’s tiniest human
BY MURIEL LEUNG
of rosettes and rotting majesty, her throat as slim
as stem and poised to snapping. How she rattles
with each spook. She sneezes and a white feather
coffin sets to drift. Tinker bones on the shattering end.
But glass is glass. Someone made her. Inflated her shy
pouch with cheap pinks. One day loving up a worker bee
and the next, pricked. Death follows her to the milkweed
edge where hand shreds root. Singing all the while
Love me, love me until the sky tips over. Death loves.
When she spills, the forest is coated white and all across
the grass, each one daggers. Someone loses a mirror
and a tooth. Someone dances a spindle song that skips
on record twice. To a Molly fish, a hollow says:
I want to belong to someone, to anyone, but only half a night.