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Body Shop

By Shaindel Beers

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I’ve promised parts to other men—

a right arm in exchange for attention,

a hand in marriage—

but I’ve decided to save you the good ones

and cut away the rest—

fifteen pounds of fat,

keeping just enough to stay

a woman.

Slice the pale blue moons

from under my eyes and leave you

just the crystal orbs,

unroot the tooth chipped on the roller coaster,

the ones with enamel fillings, give you the others like

pearls on a tray.

Pop out the cyst from my imperfect hand,

remove the right breast—

it has a birthmark and is smaller—

turn the rest of me inside out and

serve it up

all raspberry silk on a silver platter.

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