catapult magazine

June 1st, 1942: 927 calories, 63° Fahrenheit

by Meredith Kathryn-Case Gipson Hoogendam

what is it like, to measure time
in calories, each moment a caloric collection
of seconds, each month a record
of how many grapefruit eaten, how many
pieces of cake or slices of cheese denied,
days upon days stretching into the absence
of every fat gram you did not eat,
every desire you did not pursue,
every dream you did not have.

i know a girl with eyes
so hollow you can see
her soul beneath them.
she traces her lineage
with harsh bone fingers, counts
the births that hang like plump apples
from her family tree,
each little red ball
a reminder of her own
empty branch,
devoid of apples and fresh blood.

her grandmother keeps a diary, records
calorie intake and degrees fahrenheit
on the same top line of each page.
june 1^st, 1942: 927 cal, 63° fahrenheit.
the girl imagines her grandmother, sixty
years younger, measuring
milk for cereal and checking
the window thermometer
for signs of change.

the girl wonders if her life, too, could be traced
with such precision, each bite
the anniversary of a birth or a death, each pound
weighing the girth
of her heart, the measure
of her place on the earth.

the girl asks God:
if i get so small that You take
my place, will my feet still press imprints
into the ground, or will i disappear?
but God gives
no answer
and her feet become so light
she nearly vanishes.

like a levitating Eve she picks the apple
and gives it to Adam,
who takes
in the calories she does not
deserve.