she was observing gravity in the mirror.

not her body—not the unflattering

cut of her gray undies—but the sag

of flesh from the pull of an interstellar

body so huge she could never escape it.

her meat lacked buoyancy; thus there

must be an adequate amount of it to

balance the demands of one of the four

fundamental forces of the universe.

the magazines seemed to confirm this.

she would lie in bed and debate them.

then grow bored and grab the hitachi.

"why are men so philosophical?"

she asked her friend later, at coffee.

watched the rustle of the leaves,

felt some of her body fall over artificial

boundaries set by fashionistas in paris.

wondered when she'd get home to the

ice cream in the freezer.