I knew the horrific thickness
beneath my skin
the offensive heaviness
of each organ
I met again with my old ally
hunger
and felt grim satisfaction
as my layers thinned
to reveal hard bone
but my cat, he
did not approve
when I was slow to feed him
my gravity stronger
though I weighed far less
my cat, he
climbed the ladder of my ribs
burrowed his way
deep into my chest
he kneaded my heart
claws retracted
purr thunderous
he yowled
as if he hungered
the sound echoed
through my abdomen
a wisher’s penny
dropped down a well
his hunger made me hunger
my cat, he
needed me
I ate with small bites
staring at my skin as though
my plushness would return
in an instant
but still, he
purred
still, he
goaded me to eat
when I had energy again
he padded down
the spiral staircase of my spine
to request his own dinner
in a booming yowl
I did not
—will never—
trust myself with food
the temptation too great
to eat, and keep eating
nor did I want to die
I realized
if nothing else
I needed strength enough
to pop open his canned food
my cat, he
resumed his cozy nest
within my chest each day
he reminded me to eat
his body a cushion
wrapped around my heart
his weight a heaviness
I would gladly bear
© 2020 Beth Cato
