Heartbroken on the Floor of the Bathroom
“It’s the cold fish dying in your stomach feeling. You try to forget about it, but as soon as you do, the fish starts flopping around under your heart and reminds you that something truly horrible is happening.” – Ruth Ozeki, A Tale For The Time Being
The cold tiles against my knees are my favorite part of throwing up.
I’m back here again, vomiting Panang curry with mixed seafood.
When my insides confront me, I pray.
I’ve never been accused of disorded eating, but then
I’ve never been accused of disordered faith either.
Before you object, try to understand:
if it’s a little bit cheeky, it’s also about the complexity of all things
and thus, how wrong anything Newtonian fast becomes.
Sorry for bringing up Newton;
the truth is I cried in the shower and again in the office.
I climbed into bed and confronted
the cold fish dying in my stomach,
the one that didn’t come up with the rest of the seafood,
the one that insists I will die if I lose you.