The Starveling - Ellen Bryant Voigt

[dferahgo.livejournal.com]

Hunger is a stone in her belly
against which she sharpens her angular body.
Lithe in the fourth month of fasting,
she rises from bed to the full-length mirror;
nude, examines every betrayal--
a palmful of breast,
a softening at the hips or collarbones.

Her father sits in the study sick with rage.
Before him, the exposed lawn unfolds
like an album: there, elf-child with dog;
langorous under the beech in peau-de-soie;
their sly games of tag and wrestle.
It is summer. In the other wing of the house
her mother is crooning, is wielding
ratatouille with its thick juice and odor.