A sheyne meydele - and they
didn't mean shaped like a pencil,
a girl trying to be invisible
more secure the less there
is of her.
Eat, eat, they said, so long
as there is something to eat.
I remember weeks of oatmeal,
white and red beans, potatoes
dug from the yard.
Four days on a stew. The last
day nothing but broth
thickened with flour. We
made soup with any bones
left over.
Young women look at me:
they see flesh, the evil
of ample flesh, indulgence,
sin personified. I cup
my breasts in my hands,
I stroke the risen dough
of my belly and I smile. I smile
in the comfort
of enough, now more
than enough.