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seven pounds, eleven ounces.
Minus placenta, water, etcetera,
that leaves about twenty pounds
of belly flab, jelly thighs,
and chipmunk cheeks I need
to lose before feeling positive
about how I look again.
And until I do that, I know
I’ll never find someone new to love.
So Maybe It Will Come
As no surprise to you that lately
I have been hearing the plea
of the monster, distant
at first but creeping closer.
Louder. Come back to me,
Kristina. Hurry back, Bree.
I closed my ears for a long
while, pleaded with it to please
shut up, please go away,
please leave me alone.
But I’m starting to come
around. Maybe a short
(and I mean no long-term
commitments!) stroll
with the monster might
slim me down, rev me up
and offer the impetus to slip
into my future, better equipped
to deal with the mindless
tedium that is my life.
