In On It

Once I was thin, relatively, I think,

I don't know

but by comparison, not at all.

When they said I was "healthy"

it was a joke I wasn't in on,

a frog in my cereal, a worm in my apple

maggots in my macaroni



I wanted to be relative, I wanted to be thin

by comparison, thinner and shrink wrapped

so tight, so smooth, my bones were holding

skin around them like a blanket

in a storm

 

And then I was thin, and the hollow mapped

out my sinew, and praise filled all the divots,

my cupped hands, held out,

carrying the proof



"Here, look,

I am relative,

Here, look, I am

in on it"

 

But then, it was better to be thick,

and then I became thick, and I was too

thick, and my grief needed

a map of my body to show it

where it should go.

Arrows in red pointing in all directions,

I just wanted to be relative, and thin

not deflated, just light as linen

off a clothesline

and thick

not rotund, but filled as berries in

a parfait



And I wanted to swell and shrivel,

pull and ring out my elasticity

until my funhouse mirror eyes

became the hallway in Versailles

And anyone who walked through

would say

“She is so thin, finally

and relative,

by comparison,

I wonder, if she is

in on it.”