Breadcrumb #632

JESSIE ROTHWELL

my oatmeal diet
first an ascetic challenge
there was something to conquer
and we love to conquer
stuff. 
Then it became 
something 
that felt sweet 
without lumps 
of melting brown sugar
and butter, instead doused in 
spoons of cinnamon, 
cardamom, any 
spice that fooled 
my bedeviled brain 
into belief

Over time desire became less visceral, the body and mind 
were less at-odds, but
but the intellect doesn’t ever
relent; the muffins and
bread and pizza,
cake on birthdays and 
pies on July 4
baking for friends
and wine with friends
and cocktails on dates
were still backing up
like a broken garbage
disposal

I wore tight brown velvet
pants and they said, 
aren’t you tired
of the words no, 
no thanks

we are supposed
to eat and not eat
to not care and care 
so a body may have 
briefly fallen into
line but the scents 
of yeast and buttermilk 
don’t stop wafting and
even if they did something
else would seep in, undo things

because even when 
there’s no more hunger 
for warm biscuits
with honey
there’s always hunger 

for disorder. 

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