The Pygmy Giant

by Ella Risbridger

lining up the cold gold

of the weights and measures,

the quarter-ounce, to the pound i could not lift

(the pound the magazines tell you all to shift)

measuring myself against their brassy shine

and the kitchen clock telling roman time

my little face in the chess-queen mirrors

and flat round discs

of my bronzed paragons, my little gods

(inches feet miles perches rods)

old and honest, outdated truth

my homeward angels melt with ruth

at my small self, intent and serious

at my accounts,

my hot fists and their treasures

these kitchen scales, these weight and measures

For someone who once claimed to not like writing about herself, Ella Risbridger does a lot of it at missellabell.tumblr.com