Anorexia and Extremes

Anorexia looks extreme: the weight loss, restriction and rituals. But it doesn’t begin that way. It creeps up on you  and hoodwinks you into allegiance to a dangerous ally. That’s my experience anyway. How are we influenced? And why?

This poem looks at two vastly different experiences. I’ve lived the experience through my cultural lens and watch my daughters struggle with their perceptions of their bodies. During my travels, I’ve come across women with far less wealth but a powerful sense of self.

Learning to be Women

What if they knew what we knew?

Girls watch, apprentice women sift the chaff of their mother’s jaded realities

The rules of inclusion remain elusive

Ideas candied by Photoshop

Shot into cyberspace through the soft touch of an icon

The instigators remain invisible

Androgynous beings with popcorn heads of ideas

Fantasy, utopia, reality, grunge

It doesn’t matter to them

Anonymity guaranteed by a grey coat and a reusable coffee mug

And women feed hungrily on the latest creations of the marketing geniuses

Released, the ideal is consumed

On dirty metro lines and French provincial bedrooms

Reality’s chameleon invites

Children to trace their mothers’ unblinking eyes

Ablaze with solutions for now

Girls learn the grail exists and how to search of the way to become  modern women

woman praying

What if we knew what they knew?

Goats munch scant leaves on broken branches

Rain unseen for many years

Global warming bites hard, plants wither

Forgetting they can thrive

Women sit together through the hottest part of the day

Eyes blinking at the mirage and the promise of water

Engaging with the silver long enough drives you mad

Little boys sleep curled on their sides like bananas

Babes suckle on flattened breasts

Stretched nipples offer sustenance and solace

The women are among who they are and what they know

Flies and wind and river sand in all orifices

A larger hand shores them in a world that reeks God’s neglect

Company buoys them, food for the soul as important as a bowl of rice

A page of a discarded magazine flutters past

No one seeks its guidance

Their children also watch and learn how to become  women.

women together

Kindly leave your thoughts or comments. I’d love to hear from you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s