Woman

The night was soggy, Houston autumn, frogs like squeeze boxes wheezing in and out. Her neighbors' nakedness seemed sad and enervated. Breasts flat on her chest, a kind of melted look to her flesh, ankles thick on splayed bare feet.

I had scribbled these lines down from the March 26, 2013 issue of the New Yorker. I'm not sure who or what wrote it, but the lines stood out to me as the description of a woman in a bind about her own body.