What It Means to Be Beautiful

The child believes
what she sees 
becomes her own
each morning  over toothpaste
in front of the mirror 
another woman's mouth 
goes tight as a zipper.

On the night wall 
desire hangs
Virgin  unattainable
a tiny white woman smiling 
the perfect fantasy of my sister 
chains the door she opens 
to wave me goodbye 
admitting no common air
no debt to our morning.

I stumble over her threshold 
razor wire  under the clothesline 
I am scolded for inattention
lick where the iron flavor wells 
hide  an unbitten star-apple 
melting to sludge in my palm.