In high school health class we measured our body fat percentages in front of our peers. I’ve passed out three times in my life. One of them was there. We were watching a Dr. Phil segment on anorexic teenagers in order to learn about the dangers of eating disorders. I misread emaciated as emancipated on the chyron at the bottom of the screen; pinched bunch of calf between the proffered calipers; for a long time I subdivided myself. I remember not eating that day I fell out of consciousness. Rose to the yellow bus in a daze. The ink moving once suspended. Poem about a ribcage. Ferns elongating. Talk about a simple bone to pick. Breaking. Any day now. — MARGARET SAIGH
Margaret Saigh is a writer, dancer, and educator based in Pittsburgh. She is the author of the chapbook CROSSED IN THE DARKER LIGHT OF TERROR (dancing girl press 2022), a graduate of the MFA program at the University of Pittsburgh, and the creator of circlet, a virtual poetry workshop and reading space. Her poems are forthcoming in giallo lit and A Velvet Giant.