she looks in the mirror
and sees so much more than what’s there.
‘i’m so fat’ she mutters as she dresses
not seeing all the skin that hangs,
the ribs that show through her clothes,
or bags under her eyes;
she goes throughout her day,
no breakfast, no lunch
ignoring the tube in her abdomen,
the one that saved her life
the night her weakness knocked her down.
she blocks out her weeks in the hospital,
as cooks me a huge meal
that she will refuse to touch,
even though i’m forced to eat two plates.
this is her illness,
her struggle.
it’s a slow suicide,
as her body fades
to a rough goodbye.