the silvery sequins sewed onto the

azure cloth draped like silk over my

burgeoning curves and protruding bones

stings against my skin 

but i stain my curved smile with cerise

cosmetic and fight the spasming flinch

because mother said

                            you must be a perfect daughter. 

each gleaming bead and aureate bangle

weighs down my skinny wrists like dense

sacks of diamond but my legs must hold

my shaking body steady as i walk and wave

at a faceless crowd of nameless people

with picture-perfect plastic steps

because mother said

                            you must be a perfect daughter.

and i bow to an uncle with shaking knees

bent in respect and torment and his eyes

perceive silk-pure cob-web fabric- but he

misses the seam-showing cloth hidden through

painfully painstaking hours of turning

enervated bodies into plastic barbies

because mother said

                            you must be a perfect daughter. 

and when the grinning games end and i collapse

with the frostbite fractals spreading over curved

limbs my strings do not snap ugly and sudden-

but rather with a gentle puff of whispered air

as painted eyes flutter closed and dress folds

into pleated sheets i die a flawless figurine

because mother said

                             you must be a perfect daughter.