Air and Ether
By Misha Lazzara
when I attended that candlelit
dinner party serving only
cases of uncorked cabernet
I felt a kinship when
I watched you glow
hollow in pallid amber light
we convalesced, draping ourselves
over the hard, wooden chairs
red wine calories do not count
of course, everyone knows this
I banned only the following items:
meat, dairy, pasta, bread
my diet consisted of only
the fat around my thighs
this menu of air and ether
and alcohol reminded us
of how cliché counting calories
had become
that anything worth saying
was worth repeating
and anything worth eating
wasn’t worth a moment on the lips
even in my dreams, stairwells fill themselves
with warm food, an obstacle course
this you understood, as
your dreams were full of cold bones
you are invited to watch me
eat my heart out
some kind of weightless voyeur
scrutinizing each rib bone
above my opened chest
as I bared my scale for the masses
everyone wants everyone thin
is a world I understand, but
no one wants to watch you
slowly, slowly eyeball a menu with
nothing edible but the spaces
between the words
Misha Lazzara is an MFA candidate at North Carolina State University. Winner of the Academy of American Poets Prize 2020 at NCSU. Misha is the mother to three human children. Worships sun, moon, mountain and wine bottle.