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.