310 Days Left
The concerned eyebrow arches
are hidden behind the smiles
as they watch her
eat the food on her plate.
The waft from the kitchen
has always drawn her in,
and her parents are happy
to see that today, she actually ate.
And then they clean up the dishes,
her parents kiss her goodnight
and send their good wishes, walking
up the stairs to their bed. She
lets their happiness last.
When the coast is clear, she sneaks down
to the kitchen. She hoards the goodies:
the chocolate, cake and cookies,
knowing that her parents will only
be glad to know they’re gone because
she no longer fasts.
Done, she licks her lips, closes the jars,
throws out the packages.
She helps herself up,
walks up the stairs, listening closely
for her parent’s snores in the bedroom.
She takes her toothbrush, enters
the bathroom, and sticks it down her throat.
Hurling, she knows all the while
that tomorrow she’ll have to face her
mom-who thinks she’s stable- and her
dad’s encouraging smile
at the breakfast table.