A chicken carcass; bone, picked clean of all of its skin, muscle and sinewy meat, and parts that now dangle deep into a simmering broth on the stove, edge to edge vegetables seasoned to taste.
In the bathroom the shower runs hot, I hear slight pulsations of drops bouncing off the walls, vibrating irreverent white noise, reminding me that this is where I will take my next step.
Standing here, stripping my layers of night and lounge clothes off of my body, I think: I did not get dressed in my daytime cloths today, because I didn’t have to. I didn’t care.
A naked face looks back at me from the mirror
I look down to a hard and soft layer of belly protruding below my breasts, like a hungry child waiting for its next meal on the outside of this world, yet growing smaller. As I drop the rest of my layers to the floor, the water is yelling at me to crawl into its hot cocoon shaped nest.
Safe from mirrors
Hide yourself with water
Scorching drops hit my arm, my leg, and my backside; beckoning, come closer; I turn my back into it, allowing this stream to soak, sensing cooler drops running off, down the front of my torso. I avoid the hot stream of water to my face, only allowing it to careen over my shoulders, down, over and between my breasts, cooling; down, over my belly, that fat eruption which reminds of what my hunger brought into my world, onto this naked carcass.
I try to wash it away
I wash my hair, but this motion does not take away intrusive reminders, soap cascading down, into yet other places to wash clean around my belly. I had eaten to fatten these nerve endings, these muscles, these tendons, and the bone from which it all lies.
A child is brought into this world, starving, because of my hunger to produce this fatty shield in which to hide.
Now I want to throw it all away, this useless fat, when there are children who have none to spare.
My selfish nature did this, I tell myself
But, but, wait!
I tell myself we all have that part inside of us to be selfish
Only mine shows up like an unwanted letter F