to body,

standing by the kitchen countertop at nine pm on a Saturday:

enough is sufficient.

we know fullness

little child we wandered distracted from the dining room table

—household cat curled up in the sunlight—

we know. and yet like many we are still searching

this year’s salvation is not in the bottom of a wine glass but in the empty pint of sugar-free ice cream

it is hidden in the back of the refrigerator, and we are still standing there with the door wide open

we have memorized the contents but we will never tire of looking.

to body:

it will be forthcoming. there is honey in the rock for all mom’s children

food again for breakfast

someday we will break the habit of licking our plate clean

there is always surplus.

so we learned frugality in the space between the dinner table and the empty porcelain

serving dishes and dished out portions

spare ribs and turkey thigh gaps and extra lean cheekbones.

now body is fighting. body is packing flesh like tissue paper on our thin gift-wrapped skeleton

body scrabbles for the dirty plates and abandoned leftovers

body waits crouched under the veneer of civilization for any scraps that it knows might fall

body is still young. we are teaching it not to hide from strangers

not to cower under the covers

but body learns slow. body doesn’t know we are no longer fighting

body doesn’t know it is no longer starving

body just hasn’t quite learned that now, finally, it can come out and play.