Constellation

Hope arrives in costume

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

This week’s theme is the Star, which represents hope after catastrophe. You can read my previous post on this subject here:

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Contents:

1. But Did You See A Body? (content alert: death of parent)

2. Birch Trees: Parts I & II (content alert: eating disorder)

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Suggested background music: “Here To Warm You - Black Swan Remix” from Black Swan Event by The Lizzy Co Show

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BUT DID YOU SEE A BODY?
(content alert: death of parent)

“But did you see a body?” (That’s the proof. 
That’s what the old movies would have me ask.)
What is my purpose now? What is my use?
How do I determine my chosen task?

Maybe my father isn’t really dead. 
Perhaps, his heart didn’t really explode. 
I never saw it happen, folks just said
That he reached the terminus of his road. 

I watched him dying. Never got closure. 
I was not there. There was no funeral. 
I try to remember to move forward:
Hurt pours into writing when I get full.

I never saw a body, and so, I
(Sometimes) don’t believe that my father died.

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BIRCH TREES
(content alert: eating disorder)

Part I

We used to go for walks after dinner:
Mom wanted to burn off the calories.
I thought: “Why even eat the damn food first,
Then, run from it, why not just skip the feast?”

"How efficient," I thought, "to just…not eat. 
How much time saved, how much more rest enjoyed."
Exhausting to take care of oneself: treats
Were for other, good people, as were toys.

How dangerous, to think of needs as math,
As zero-sum equations to be solved.
How isolating, food as shame, then trash:
Not for community, and not for love. 

White birch trees observed as we took our walks.
My mother approved of their slender stalks. 


Part II

I wear such gorgeous gowns, made of cotton,
Unrestricting against my soft belly.
I learned not to equate beautiful and thin,
Accepted that it’s fine for me to eat. 

Today, it’s rich spaghetti bolognese,
Prepared by a man who loves me a lot,
Plated with care, garnished with grated cheese,
Brightened with freshly-torn parsley on top. 

My stomach is learning to make some room:
It’s figuring out that it can feel good
To stretch its arms and legs, to crowd my womb,
To make friends with all sorts of tasty foods. 

Only round-belly-room gowns for me now:
I molted the too-small clothes. I got out. 

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