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,
maggots in my macaroni,
it was the taste of iron
in every bite



I wanted to be relative, I wanted to be thin
by comparison, thinner and shrink wrapped
so tight, so smooth, my bones were clutching
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 wring 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.”