& a chandelier of bones answers the door.
I can see each careful metal detail
of her braces poking clearly
through the skin above her top lip.
she steps on a Wii Fit balance board
& her frame is so wispy
that the system cannot detect a body.
she & I used to be fat
together.
we shared whole pans of brownies
while our mothers shared concerns
regarding our weight.
we understood the many ways
a mother's shame
can haunt a daughter's body.
an image of this friend at a waterpark
in 7th grade is still imprinted in my mind:
she jumps, jangling her arms and legs
in excitement. she looks exactly like
the flat skeletons hung during Halloween
when you yank the string at the top
of its skull, causing its glow-in-the-dark
bones to clink and clank like chimes.
for years after, this was the last moment
I can remember seeing an emaciated body
& genuinely feeling worry
instead of envy.
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