A girl who used to look forward to dinner and a movie
The simple pleasure of walking hand in hand with stillness and a harvest moon
was handed a poisoned fortune cookie
caught a virus, and that virus crawled into her stomach, like a ray gun
it changed the waves until, her stomach like arrythmia of the heart
was fitful and lurched
she was instantly sickened, from a person of health she turned
green
her body shut down and said
no, I don’t want to eat
dimly she remembered the days
she would lust and long for food
her appetite completely gone, the acidic growl of her stomach
held all dominion
she was slave to nausea 24/7
like a merciless dictator it left her no peace
even in the lingering hours of night
she woke bathed in sweat
her stomach somersaulting in wicked mirth
such a terrible feeling of imbalance and sickness
her hands gripped the sides of the toilet
she prayed until her head ached
for nothing could have prepared her
nothing assuaged the constant torture
every day of every day
she began to imagine
her death
fondly like a fantasy
and then when she realized what she was doing
she would cry until the crying
made her sicker and she had to stop
bottle all the anquish up
but there was nowhere to throw it, or store it or let it free
it built higher like a fortress
locking her out of life
days, weeks, months went by
she was captured between glass
unable to eat or drink without throwing up
or wishing she never had to try to chew, force food in green bilious mouth
perhaps it was punishment for a former life
where she was greedy and ate too much
or tormented the Fates with the heal of her shoe
it seemed definitely karmic punishment
just as her will to live, ran thin and irregular
sometimes imperceptable
like arrythmia pulses below the surface
that would not quiet or return to normal
disturbing former calm we take for granted
a girl who used to look forward to dinner
sits at a quayside cafe, drinking empty glasses
eating plates without food
staring at turbulent water rise and fall
waves crashing without sequence, into wet wood
holding back or pushing forward, who knows?
one day either the sea will admit defeat, or erode everything
and that is how I will be free, she says
to carefree birds overhead, yet to be struck down
they know not their good fortune