In a muslin land, a man declares his intentions—
I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you.

She is thankful, released
from each night’s slender tyranny.

In the Atlas of Women in the World,
she becomes a singular blue latitude.

In America, it’s the same:
the Maid of Cotton reads Gertrude Stein

and spits on her husband’s shoes.
It’s hard being a woman these days,

having to force belief into action.
She’s tired of eating tissue to stay slim.

She can never be as thin
as the pages of a book.