Rebekah
Wolman

you must Pacita have been tired of the birthbody

      all its functions its malfunctions fed up with infusions

      transfusions bored with mortality its finality

      to imagine your self design your self assemble

      your self this collagebody construction of paper

      pulp scraps foil playing till dawn in the workshop

      Let's do it! you said when they said Anything is possible!

      24 colors! circularity! no need for permission

      to locate your self behind a low fence of purple

      and orange pointed hats cross-tied with cowrie shells

      to take a wide stance before a stack of paperbacks

      teetering behind you topping out behind the hem of

      your knee-length skirt all scrawled across with red

      to wear the circles inside circles inside circles of your

      kneecaps on the outside of your skirt to show them

      off those handsome kneecaps like painted hubcaps

      the left one with its saffron rim or like eyes the right

      with its ocean-water-blue iris and dark pupil scored

      with red chevrons kneecaps eyes maybe you have

      other names for the parts of this otherbody with three

      of what I see as spines cowrie shells placed vertically

      for vertebrae external frame like a ribcage

      or long arms held akimbo square hands flat against

      your hips extra arms attached short ones shoulder

      height little mittened hands like paws holding circles

      green circular intestinal canal two sagging breast

      circles the right one drooping lower than the left

      crown halo of mirrors candy rainbow of frames

      more mirrors only mirrors for facial features as if you

      don't need to be seen just want people to see themselves

      in you and your heart has grown huge with mirrors

      instead of chambers in lime-green frames you are all

      rainbow transplanted marrow and rainbow cells

      infused I hear you say Here, have a blue donut