P O E M I N

A Life Worth Dying For

3.4.10


My stomach was full of China—
I sat with my legs turned away from the table,
sidesaddle like a real lady—
I ate too much on purpose,

because when Daniel emailed me
and asked me to eat at Bobo Chinese Buffet
after school, I was hungry
and when I got there I couldn’t stop—

I was filling myself, looking at sushi
as if it had eyeballs—
staring down rice—
challenging it to bite at my ankles,
begging it to try to knock me over,

but, Daniel didn’t see that.
I sat away from him, happy for the company
because my mother told me that
it hurts to eat alone
and she was right!

(I like to say that. I like to say
that my mother was right.)
The woman next to me had a face
taped to her head—
so I kept staring at her

and watching it melt off, soggy,
falling in clumps into her noodles—
talking to a little girl
who kept calling her “Mommy”
“You’re my best friend, Mommy,
aren’t you my best friend?”

“Yes, baby, eat your noodles,”
The more her face would droop,
the more that little girl called
her Mommy, the more food I
shoveled in,

chewing, swallowing, eating to stay
alive. Eating because I didn’t want to be
eaten—because I loved that little girl.
And she just wouldn’t stop talking,
and I couldn’t ask her to.
And Daniel, he just kept saying,
“What do you mean,
what do you mean he raped her?”
And so I would turn on my butt,
swivel like my father’s recliner chair—
and I would look at him.

My plates kept piling up,
chopsticks on my napkin I kept going
up for more—
eating, eating through all the girls
that called him to wish him well,
all the guys that weren’t saying anything.

I kept eating through all the people that,
days ago, had bought me books,
kissed me on the cheek,
said they would miss me—

and I ate until my stomach cried out,
I stopped and listened:
“I’m glad we’re doing this again, talking,
are you done? Are you ready to go?”

“Momma, you’re my best friend, huh? Momma, I wanna hug.”

“Well come and get one, baby.”

And she did. And I got up without looking
to see what my fortune was,
I pushed my chair under
slid my mother through the cash register
ate my father at work
ate my mother home alone
and I was full.

And all those girls, all those friends
I thought would pack into my car
and go anywhere with me
sat in the buffet bar
with their knees on their chests
snickering,

my phone on their plates,
covering it in soy sauce—
they didn’t look fully cooked.
And that lady, she kept cutting them
into smaller pieces
feeding them to her daughter
telling her to grow big and strong,
to eat and be a big girl.

Cross your legs, I kept pleading—
don’t let anything out
and don’t let anything in,
it’s so dirty outside,
everyone it so sick

and all the mirrors are smeared.
So whatever name they call you,
whatever mask they staple to your face,
answer to it, wear it proud—
because it’s probably true.

And the tiniest waitress tip-toed to
their table, picked up plates full of the woman’s
face, plates full of those girls I knew,
and threw them away.