That Was She

The band avoided her thin fingers.

As if the rose gold

couldn’t bear the touch of her thin flesh and brittle bone, 

sliding from raw knuckle to raw knuckle.

But it was her skin rolling 

over a gemmed belly chain 

that was stuck in her thoughts.

Stuck like her bubble gum bursting 3 meals a day

as her insides begged.

Begging, as she did, for someone 

to kiss away the corners of her mind.

But that was she. And she is clouded

in sunset smoke when I try to recall. 

I recall when she pirouetted in a tiny tutu

and scraped her dusty blush chalk across the sun-kissed sidewalk

but I pray to never know her

again.