Thigh Gap

It's true: I have it
though I hardly approve
of anything it does.
 
Supposed bend of light
or smudge where two odd
angles cross. I hardly see—
 
can hardly do a thing
with it. White zone of
no flesh pressing
 
into no. So low, I can’t
scale or measure it. I used
to think: OK! A clean sharp place
 
to keep. Or: I'll grow
a thing! to keep, for me! But
no. It's just a ward
 
to mark & mount, a loop
I lope around with, so
I count
 
myself a realm
of realms. I vote & vote.
Turns out, we agree
 
with everything we
do, almost. We sweep
the precincts
 
of ourselves: the rooms
between each rib
& under them
 
till we reach the fat
red condo where
our blood leans in.
 
We live here now. Half
heart, half townhouse.
Come on down.
 
Turn on that sweet TV.
Our mise en place, our rugs
& nooks: we’re full
 
of stuff. We paint
the furniture we couldn’t
live without. It’s true
 
at last: we have it all
though we hardly know
what any of it does.

Kiki Petrosino, "Thigh Gap" from Witch Wife.  Copyright © 2017 by Kiki Petrosino.  Reprinted by permission of Sarabande Books, Inc.
More Poems by Kiki Petrosino