Hunger

she said I’ve been laughing myself off

down to the bone, the pretty one
that collar bone that pokes out under
collared shirts, the Izods of 1984

snorting, giggling and guffawing
hand to mouth, head thrown back
then hunched over, hand to concave belly

until water comes out of each eye
cold tears not yet warmed by grief
or fear or even relief or beauty

and now what’s left is the ache
in the half moon tips of her mouth
in her throat
in her diaphragm
down her
bending
scalloped back