100 pounds. And Mommy wants to raise me
She takes my plate
It floats from her hand
And falls down
Three drumsticks
Splat
It was all on the floor

Her voice
And I kept looking past her head
Because my eyes couldn’t face
Rage

So, no longer could I cook
To her, I needed discipline
One rod to set me off
To the sky and push my head against the ground
The fact was I am
Fat

Every supper, she took the bread.
The flour is mute in the edges. Its texture is soft on the tongue
There were always blue dolphins in my glass.
They wish to swim within an ocean
And I set them free
Because I didn’t want my stomach to be
Empty