Ketosis

Astrid Bridgwood

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We are God’s graduating class. Chalk it up to being raised starving 
In a culture half-sick and hollow-hungry. Chalk outline of a body 
On melting asphalt. My high school’s one successful suicide, 
Reduced to a brochure. Facts include: she had a fake English accent 
& a friend she left behind in her hometown. It is nine in the morning;
I am throwing up in a bathroom sink. We are in first period lecture 
Like dogs licking the plate clean. We are God’s anti-bullying seminar.

 

We are God’s untied shoes. Brain defaults to bloat, a body bulbous 
Washed-up, salt-soaked. Thrown overboard to drink dry the ocean. Girl
Falling in a fountain outside our public library. Girl flat on her back
In my bedroom. Girl reflected and warped. I am an open mouth; 
I am always chewing. White-toothed secret: the purity of disuse. I am living
In my body, I promise. Formaldehyde drunk through a candy-striped straw
We are preserved-pink brains in perfect crystal. We are God’s dirty dishes. 

 

We are God’s first good morning. The radio says it will be a hot winter;
August’s green light reveals I am not good at being anorexic. 
The car lurches. I am on my way to work. We are not transcending youth,
We are wasting grey-sick in our skin & hungry for rot like flies 
Like vultures. We are carrion. Dead things in summer heat 
Cooking on a desert campfire, some small animal caught 
Meeting her coal-black end. We are God’s last home-cooked meal.