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
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