Fire Kindling

In the checkout isle of the grocery store with my mom by my side,

I couldn’t ignore the images fighting for attention on every magazine cover,

block letter headlines in neon colors shouting, “TEN POUNDS IN TEN DAYS,”

“BEST BEACH BODIES” or even, “CELEB CONFESSES TO EATING DISORDER.”

In common they all shared pictures of frail-boned women,

like the twigs my family used when making campfires for s’mores.

I didn’t think a woman should be set on fire like that

and I asked, “Why don’t they eat, mom?”

She looked at me like a kid who’d stopped believing in Santa Claus and whispered,

“Some people can’t see the real them in the mirror.”

 

That night, I stood in front of the mirror and lifted up my shirt to see my body,

chubby in my six-year-old glory,

and I couldn’t imagine what kind of pain had led those souls to see everything in nothing,

and nothing in everything.

 

Those were the days when I saw the world in icecream flavors,

creamy-sweet colors and sunny afternoons.

But some foods have expiration dates, and the dairy curdled in times to come so all I could taste was sour milk.

 

Years later when I awoke every morning,

I felt the sun burn my grey eyes and now I couldn’t imagine how I’d get through today

without fearing my stomach expanding from the bite of one extra strawberry.

It’s a special kind of torture when you go to sleep at night with hopes of at least one moment of

blank slate

And instead live through nightmare after nightmare of eating and eating and eating and then

awake

to Not Eat.

It’s one thing to feel lost on a late-night car ride,

swimming through oceans of lights and silent noise with the exit nowhere near in sight

and another to look in the mirror and not recognize the person standing in front of you.

Some days I can’t tell if what I see is a figment or reality

and I can’t remember when the words “tree trunks” stopped conjuring thoughts

Of immovable life-force not the mightiest ax-men could chop down

To an insult dripping through hateful lips at myself to describe my shaking legs,

Legs that once kicked but now only screamed

HELP,

Not today. Not today.

Today, you walk another three miles without direction

Today, you look at the ocean and see shimmering tides as shards of glass ready to attack

Today, you place every step in the gutter because that’s where you belong and hey,

it’s the outside loop and would burn more food

Today, you will lie in bed with your journal and write recipes to meals

you know you wouldn’t touch if your life depended on it

And it did.

Tonight, your body begs why,

but that was a question you had given up long ago

at the same time you stopped wondering about anything.

 

That’s the thing about expired food; it needs to be thrown out.

 

Stop throwing away fresh food that means only to fulfill you with energy

and ditch what smells like a month-old fish in the fridge.

The scent will linger even after the evidence is gone.

Just as I gained back my weight and loved ones approached no longer with tears

as if they’d seen roadkill on the side of the street,

but a smile for the return of a friend they didn’t know they remembered.

My mind resented that because the gain was a loss to me,

drowning my already-distorted image in ball-and-chains attached to every inch

of free space that continued to grow and grow and grow and

 

Stop.

 

Bodies are not prisons. They are not windows, either.

Not fire kindling.

Bodies are bodies --

To see this meant that every pound now stood for another year of life

and another handful of water, sweet water to bathe an aching soul

and rid it of that stench.

To buy new ice cream and try each flavor.

I remembered the child years ago and approached the mirror and lifted my shirt

It’s not easy work to connect the dots of a shapeless form

But every day I drew in the next line and every day I become something more,

giving myself the look only an artist can give to their paintings.

 

When I wake up, the sunlight doesn’t blind me. It kisses my hand.

 

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