Keep moving or she
gimpy parade with no floats, no
confetti, but human teeth. She stubble
wheeze bad, spit, no pinkie.
She sequin and ash.
She carve paper dolls, carve out their hearts
then say, mend them. Her hip slant
doorways, so-so blurry, she dabble
in miniatures and do so
She say keep moving or get left—how
be it back there, she say, do the pages curl
in heat, do the ink fade? She squint
a slow shutter, mote, a flaw in
Make you smile pretty for picture, say
jut chin, be coy. She tell you, don’t
try so hard, stealer, pinprick She stink
up all the sunlight. You don’t know her
like I do, but she sure know you.