i collected scraps from newspapers and books
to pin onto your wall and show you-
a kind of last chance
in which i begged you to get better.
skinny, they said. sunken eyes. hollow bones.
one grapefruit, they said. counting calories. starving.
the way your sweater hung off your shoulders
made me want to kiss you, taste the edge of your eyelids
to see if there was any salt left.
your cufflinks slid straight off your wrists
and your suits wouldn’t fit anymore. we stopped going out to eat
when you shrunk into yourself like a cocoon.
i began bringing you breakfast in bed,
trays of toast with jam and tea.
it was only when i cried and screamed and wouldn’t open the door
that you began to try and help yourself.
when i came into your room days later you sat up
from under the covers and looked at me.
i’ve been eating for you, you said.