Elegy for Girlhood K Janeschek What is girlhood to you, silent creature? What was girlhood to a body already bloody in its becoming? Cheeks with their gentle pink, that rose-tinged roundness. The light coming not over your skin, but under it the softening of your hips, the bone slipping back, every little hush of your creeping curves and creases. Still, you dancedwildly, in a rush, without a moment to consider the sharpness of your ribs, their lithe hollows (how easily they splinter) and all that hair, hot on your neck, too heavy for your skull. What did it mean to live like that? Running with your legs bound at the knees— [End Page 115]
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