Curse of the Procrustean's Wife

She was once a woman
of moderate size,
little more, with moderate
need and desires.

“You’re eating too much!”

Once a woman who felt
comfortable in her skin,
content with her ideas,
at ease with the range
of her imagination.

“Stop daydreaming!”

Yet the longer
she stays by his side,
as he delimits her needs
and defines her desires,
the smaller she becomes.

“Don’t you ever think
before you speak?”

She feels her flesh,
pulled by the drawstring
of his constant commands,
tightening about her,
her thoughts and bones
and internal organs
compressed together.

“I marked the sample ballot.
Be sure to take it with you!”

She senses the heavens
of his overbearing world
lowering down upon her,
the walls of his house
closing like a vise.

“You’re drinking too much!”

One dark November day
with winter on the horizon,
he attaches his watch fob
and slips her into his pocket
with ample room to spare.

Appeared in Asimov's SF Magazine