on my tongue. My body already big enough
to be ignored, the weight of taxpayer dollars
in its shadow. How many times will you try to
destroy me by scalding, burning, how many by diets?
Every January I become a pair of sneakers and a water
bottle away from disappearing forever, the fantasy of a
shrinking stomach. Find me in every mirror.
Feel me in each bulge, the way I sag and sag.
I am the shame of an outgrown wedding dress.
I am the ache of gossip that repeats, again and again,
how fat you've gotten, how thin we want you to get.
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Note: The line: "a little bitterness, salt..." is a paraphrase of a line from the poem "First Gentile" by Rachel Mennies.