Food Fights, part 8

By Karen Secord

I’m feeling liberated. So I’m just going to do it. Dismiss the rules. Breathe in deeply. Seriously hold. Escape with the air.

Warning:

My unrestricted so-self-absorbed ramblings follow.

Must, above all, be read out loud and upright.

While remembering the simplicity of ee cummings and James Joyce’s unbridled stream of consciousness.

Stay with me.

21^st century fat ism s

my fate was decided by a chart

body mass index canada food guide weight percentile graph

and a drop of blood

bmi 41 out of 100 women my age and height in the largest one percent

morbidly heaviest

i stood out

but embraced by my padded me

i called it uniqueness when the shy eye retreated

embellished cushioned protected

a covered heart

thinly bridgehead

where i eavesdrop lightly

cross legged

my satisfying revelation

i can cross my legs

where i sit my newness

to fit the space

ive learned to like hot and herbal not caffeinated mumbo jumbo latte d

half a spelt cookie brazenly unchocolatey

fills me

my clothes slipped off for a man who professed fat is not flattering

sizable differences

i was galled

i told him to look closer

for the original me

there are hefty incongruities

can t he see them

the soft fluffiness of my casing

unpeeled rind resting jubilantly

let go of the pain

you’ll have more space than you will ever need

exonerated me

I forgive
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(Note: You can find Karen’s previous Food Fights posts in the Article Archive)