The things I saw women doing for beauty looked crazy.
My mother, a beautiful woman, got too little of the pleasures that I could understand.
I saw that her beauty hurt her:
teeth-gritting abstinence at celebration dinners,
fury on the scale,
the small notepad kept by the dishwasher:
4 Wheat Thins.
A black scrawl:
It would be nice to be beautiful like her, I figured, sure:
nothing about it seemed nice enough to make up for that endless degradation.