The daughter here talks of losing weight steadily after her father dies, loving the skeletal look that links her to his wasted body. "I do love being like him, / feeling my big joints slide under the loose skin." Even her memory of feeding him in the last days of his life connects her to him as if she should die too. "I felt the suction of his tongue . . . his death pulling at my hand." (See also other poems by Olds about a father’s death, annotated in this database, such as: The Dead Body, The Pulling, The Waiting).