The torso facing east, the head nearly west, as if she couldn't take in the sight of her own skin and its failings, its parts spilling onto other parts. She thought: Nothing for once. Too tired for fantasy. If a body can be seen as itself and loved, it's a wonderful thing. If the thing-ness of the body is all, we're doomed and broke apart: I'm offering you my breasts, inches below the fuselage of my heart, for whatever a short life can become.
From Red Sugar by Jan Beatty. Copyright © 2008 by Jan Beatty. Published by University of Pittsburgh Press. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.