Say You're Sorry, Caesar Salad.

another unmedicated month:

crying in the closet under a canopy of sweaters

as in the next room over, the green leaf

heaves itself out from the fridge

pads across the floor, shielding its yellowed spots

before climbing between my molars

shouting: you’ll need me, you’ll need me!

there needs to be an antonym

for Gluttony, the sin of surplus,

and not a praise for the abstinence

from carbs, from sugars, from milk

my mother said she stopped breastfeeding

once I bit down, crowning myself royalty of hunger:

I would’ve let you drink forever

with every list of safety, a saintly candle

for dear, dear Lawrence.

I burn you down into nothing:

a wax skeleton, a cradle overflowing with leeches

If you think I’ve scared you enough,

just wait until you see what I do

with the coffees.