i read of nuns who stopped eating

to become holy.

men in monasteries who sipped cyanide;

a ten year process

of dissolution.

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.

numb thighs.

my parents' home is almost empty,

someone crying or laughing

in the next room.