Cold pizza (21, 5am)

Eating cold pizza
At three-in-the-morning
Pacing the kitchen,
longing for something
to write about that isn’t food

It has been ten years since
I first nearly disappeared,
And I did it twice for good measure.

It has been ten years
since I was a size two Houdini,
A fat girl hiding in the thin apron
in an empty kitchen
Irrationally afraid
Of numbers

The last of that small person
Went out in some trash bags
The attic is free of different versions of me
That don’t fit when I count all my numbers.

4 thoughts on “Cold pizza (21, 5am)

  1. I feel the disquiet in this poem. And I like the juxtaposition of : size two Houdini,
    A fat girl hiding in the thin apron
    in an empty kitchen”

    thank you for writing this beautiful poem, Angel.

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