Until They Both Knew Better

Mom, I do not want

to wear pretty clothes that hang

off my frame and remind you

I am not fat, that remind you

you are. I do not want to rejoice,

the way you do, that we

are not the same, I am lucky,

and splendor in my body.

Its shape deceives me. I am to be

happy in all this body rightness.

Right curve at the crook in my thigh

where it meets my pelvic area,

just like the underwear models,

indented, smooth. I do not want to rely

on all this body rightness

but I am given no other way. So I know

I am happy because my clothes are loose,

because I am one small size

from head to toe, with a minor curve

behind me and narrow places

praised below my rib cage.

I don’t know what to do

with all this rightness that does

not make me happy, that does

not make me feel anything at all

other than not not okay like

my girlfriends whose torsos are larger,

squishy, go out where commercials say

they should go in. So I know,

at least I do not have that to worry about.

Until all this okayness shows up

at the roller rink in 8th grade in slim jeans,

in a half shirt, in the way I stand a particular way

to see who notices all my okayness and makes me

feel like I am something I have not considered

wanting to be or not. Doesn’t everyone

want to be ok?