The lump—that deep twist in my gut.
I am holding too tight, even as I let go.
Scooping out my melon of a belly,
emptying it of everything, including hunger.
She doesn’t care for watermelon
but I continue to present it, bowl after bowl.
a show of just how far I am willing to go.
As unappealing as my misplaced entrails
and the hunger that is and isn’t.