i read of nuns who stopped eating
to become holy.
men in monasteries who sipped cyanide;
a ten year process
my body is a history of hunger.
when i relapsed
i wrapped my arm in toilet paper
and no one questioned
the lumps in my sleeve.
in winter, i skip the bus and run.
hard kicks on ice.
my parents' home is almost empty,
someone crying or laughing
in the next room.