Cherry pits

Last summer I ate in front of the mirror,

playing the numbers game with my carrot sticks.

(They still had too many calories, even with the ends cut off.)

it was the year of 2am emergency room visits

and wanting to give up.

(But knowing I couldn't.)

This summer I laid in the bed of your daddy's pickup truck

and you taught me the names of the constellations.

We sucked on cherry pits

and I showed you how to tie the stems in a knot with your tounge,

red juice dribbling down my grinning lips.

and the numbers in my head

almost (almost) didn't click-click-click upwards.

They are quieter now, you know.

I think I'm getting better.