She begins always with the imperfect circle of my head. Next my curls, looped from left to right in one long coil, like an exercise in fat cursive e's. Then my half moon eyes, black and shiny lashed with five lines each standing straight up in surprise.
Eyebrows curve close and uneven above.
I am impossibly tall on the page. Even I could love this woman rubbed in vibrant wax, softly outlined in lead, willowy and smiling. She is there too, looking up. Her feet don't touch the same ground. She floats next to me, wingless and glowing in fluorescent pink.