hasselblad 501CM, 120mm macro, fuji neopan 400iso

in calories, each moment a caloric collection

of seconds, each month a record

of how many grapefruits eaten, how many

pieces of cake or slices of cheese denied,

days upon days stretching into the absense

of every fat gram you did not eat,

every desire you did not pursue,

every dream you did not have.

i know a girl with eyes as hollow

you can see

her soul beneath them.

she traces her lineage

with harsh bone fingers, counts

the birth that hangs like plump apples

from her family tree,

each little red ball

a reminder of her own

empty branch,

devoid of apples and menstruation.

her grandmother keeps a diary, records

calorie intake and degrees fahrenheit

on the same top line of each page.

june 1st, 1942: 927 cal, 63 deg. fahrenheit.

the girl imagines her grandmother, sixty

years younger, measuring

milk for cereal and checking

the window thermometer

for signs of change.

the girl wonders if her life, too, could be traced

with such precision, each bite

the anniversary of a birth or a death, each pound

weighing the girth

of her heart, the measure

of her place on the earth.

the girl asks God;

if i get so small that you take

my place, will my feet still press imprints

into the ground, or will i simply disappear?

but God gives no answer

and her feet become so light

she nearly vanishes;

like a levitating Eve,

who picks the apple

and then gives it to Adam,

so that he might ingest the calories

she does not deserve.

its difficult to watch the separation,

what we cling to,

what doesn’t hold well to courage.

eventually, that wall will stretch to a saran wrap,

even making god transparent,

and penetrate beyond the veil of his flesh.

robert b. bushway