Hard Remainders

It must have been bad
whatever happened
to pull your lips
so thin and tight
to pare you down flat
as paper dolls
standing against
a painted house
nothing in your faces to suggest
you might have once
been children
running loose-limbed and easy
through uncut fields
of weeds and wild flowers
even your clothes are flat
without fold or dimension
no hint of any ease
allowing movement
your eyes trust nothing
offer nothing
but suspicion and refusal
and I'm sure if you spoke
your tongues would be
as thin and sharp
and unforgiving
as the tines of that pitchfork
you hold like a promise
of worse to come