glass-eyed women die before death, abrade their silken fingertips
into needles that teach new skin how pain is absorbed until the
seams rip; the way it colors milky antiseptic air and crayon-
covered walls and silence silence silence.

glass-eyed women forget in refraction, melt through turmeric-
stained sofa while daily soaps illumine empty orange Rx,
chipped wooden Ganesha condemning you from the fireplace–
born of utility, beheaded in loyalty, replaced with animal.

glass-eyed women hide under cerement and gnaw on paper for
sustenance, photo albums burgeoning long after sunset, the bride
painted doll-like in that moment of passing.

glass-eyed women unfurl their lips until their bodies turn inside
out: eyes studded with teeth, womb shriveled, and maybe if you
had just listened she wouldn't be here, aureoled in flies.