Because their clothes were too tight,
they took small bites, pressed the crumbs
on their fingers to their tongues.
Pronounced the cake too sweet to eat.
Took the tiniest sips from
the thin lips of their teacups.
A jot too hot. Stairstep sisters,
refused to walk or talk about
the blisters and how their hands kept
interlocking with each other’s
under the table. They let
their legs swing freely, as if
running, running from this place
while remaining as polite
as the apple pie served on
teacup saucers used as plates.
