The Dream of Calories
Today’s fad diet is called “intermittent fasting.”
Or, one spicy crunchwrap supreme and two whole cheese quesadillas scarfed down.
To make myself sick.
In the shower, I let the water numb, then scald my skin. So I don’t have to feel my body.
Haven’t had sex in three weeks.
The man I was sleeping with texts less and less frequently, says I burn through people too quick.
Like energy, we are an event—not “a thing.”
So few kisses to punctuate this static.
Even my poems all seem strung-out or too big.
Just one lip could consume me. One breath: a way of happening, a mouth.
I turn the water on so hot I could melt.
Like butter, a big waxy slab sculpted to resemble a woman.
MAG GABBERT is the author of Sex Depression Animals, which won the Charles B. Wheeler Prize in Poetry. Mag has a PhD from Texas Tech University and currently lives in Dallas, Texas, where she teaches at Southern Methodist University.