To the Anorexic
To the Anorexic
by Chloe Honum
Sleepy child, what are you sewing? Where do you imagine you will wear it?
Daylight falls like yards of satin in your lap. When Mother wraps her arms
around you, your shoulders don’t begin where she expects—do you enjoy
this, that it takes a moment to find you? It is winter and the fields are
numb. Then it’s spring and poppies flaunt their blood-soaked composure.
For months, you feel the tug of hunger, like a balloon tied to your wrist.
The sky asks nothing. Let your hand float up, and answer.
Quality…the poppies are well used. Van Dongen’s Corn Poppy flashed in my mind and made the painting suddenly tragic after years of not noticing her at all. Then 99 Red Balloons took me back to my own childhood; put the corn poppies of my time in front of me. Almost at the edge of frustration at my obliviousness before the end of the poem where the guilt wrenches me hard for being unaware. Powerful good. Thank you.