When I say she preferred to eat ash,
it’s not black and white.
She filled up on radish and cabbage ash.
Her body craved ash of bone and fat.
She caught cotton candy ash floating
in the air like snowflakes on her tongue.
She withered and grew. Days fluttered
and were consumed, unidentifiable
from each other— ash on the heap.
She slept like a burned log. Delicate.
Warm. When she slept.
She no longer feared the day
she would break in two— as only someone
made of ash could do.