You never really recover.
That’s what the woman told me
her friend had said.
We were talking about
eating disorders.
There’s no way to make
that line sound poetic.
Her friend ran a program
at a hospital for other women
with eating disorders.
Her friend knew the subject personally.
I remember, I told the woman,
when I believed the same thing.
Until one day, it happened.
I just didn’t know
it was possible because
for so many, many years
it hadn’t happened to me,
though I tried, I tried.
Whenever it happened,
there were no fireworks,
no symphonies, no ecstatic dance,
no revelations written in clouds.
No rhapsody, no reveille, no
parade, no streams of light.
It happened so quietly I didn’t notice—
not for days, weeks, perhaps months.
Now I lean in when I hear myself say never.
What a fine time to get very curious.
What a fine time to get very quiet,
even quieter than that.