CBT
after Jessica Poli
your psychologist tells you the body holds its tension
between the gut & around the bits of granola
tracking through the intestines.
she tells you it’s all about that regulation, somewhere
for the sadness to rest. so you see it getting worse? she asks.
god, you must be killing this living machine!
are you okay? / taking care of yourself? / losing it? /
feeling creative? / EMPOWERED? / SUCCESSFUL? /
like the time you were trapped in a Norovirus outbreak,
off-the-grid, & you stopped eating
in a victory dance. you threw up
on the Aquabus. it felt like Aparigraha. except,
when your therapist asked you to keep breathing,
you pictured the fish and meat aisle.
& all you could think about was forming an acrostic poem
about salmon. S-A-L-M-O-N.
you don’t talk to your psychologist about how you keep
your clothes that no longer fit, measure meal portions
with tween-jean pant legs and inseams. this hunger ––
like how skinny feels. tell me about Karen Carpenter.
are you breathing / still? / fishlike? / gill-like? /
what’s your favourite fish to fry? /
stop hunting for ways to make this about you.