in the heavy heat of my midnight shower
i can feel the bones of my skull,
my fingers against my cheekbones.
i have been growing softness there lately
but, palm to jaw, i can feel my bones.
–
when i lay me down to sleep
i can feel my hips spreading softly. 
i will call it cushion, call it mine,
call it insurance against bad winters.
my fingers are short, stubby, 
my nails trimmed to the quick, 
and i will drag them soft across my waist, 
my thighs, flesh that gives and gives. 
i want always to have flesh that gives.
–
i will call this a seal’s smooth slick blubber. 
i will dream of cold waters, green,
and all the life that eddies in the below. 
this is my seal skin, carried seven years
and never given, never hidden, never lost.
i will not burn my self for lamp oil
just because you have not learned 
how to sleep without a nightlight. 
–
there are scarier things in the dark
than the ghosts of who you thought i should be
or the nothingness you wanted me to carry on my ribs. 
the scariest thing is that i believed you, once.
the scariest thing is that i don’t, anymore. 
–
i put whole milk in my coffee this morning.
i ate breakfast.
i will survive the winter.