BEFORE RECOVERY
How did I do it? Saying no was a privilege
I couldn't refuse. I was a slack
suit of clothes, a treadmill's dry tongue
lapping itself up. Empty as a sky,
more than once I fed the dog more dinner
than myself. More than once I threw
the kitchen door open and tasted the air:
unmowably green, green of graze,
of let go. I considered the caloric content
of the air I'd eaten. There's hunger
and then there's hunger, sharpened.
The butter knife then the bread knife.
I emptied out even my voice. I was a gashed
screen. I was the dog slipping through.
On my knees to pray, I chewed my gums
instead, chewed the inside of my mouth
into shreds. The problem is many things
taste good and good together. If I want
to write about an animal, I must choose
between thousands of species—some
eat grass to survive. Some eat to vomit.
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NECESSITY
Any closer to the light now,
I'd be light, lighter, less than one
foot on the ground at a time.
If the sky, known for raining,
doesn't, does that make me a fool
for expecting rain? As I run
my throat burns
like trying not to blink.
I have eyes all over my face
& it hurts them to watch the wind slap me.
The wind hurts too—
I got in its way, configuring
the air into sorry, sorry.
Ever live somewhere until you become it?
Motion is a place I invented.
When my mother was the known enemy of my mother,
we both ran from her, her regret-bone
jointing to her rage-bone.
Adrenal spike. Strike one.
Strike two.
She was first beautifully in motion, then fatigued
like a split almond.
I died trying
to touch her.
She said, take that wishbone
out of your mouth.
She said, answer me.
She touched my calf
& I shrank down to the calf.
She touched my face & I became her face.
Slant rain touched the slant roof—
I knew this meant my future
but what are others to anyone?
Both my feet touch
the sidewalk, gentler.
The gutter has made itself a small pond—
what a thing to decide for yourself.
I think I'll invent
a new meteorology device:
a single sheet of paper.
At the top I'll write good & bad.
Under each, the same two names.
Gutter, a habitat.
Sky, a wall papered with doors.
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on "Before Recovery": "Anorexia" literally means "absence of appetite." I think this is a misnomer. I would define "anorexia" as "appetite for absence."
on "Necessity": I wanted to write about a daily activity, so I wrote about running and ended up with a poem about my mother. I don't really know how to write about my mother, which may be why I keep doing it.
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