(no subject)

[somersault]

i grow sick at the smell of toast.
it, it floats upstairs and i remember the green fly
that lay dead inside it one time after a shaking. i think of
the scent of bad plates, a smell like mold and sweat-
water. forks all bent out of shape:
the kinds of things i used to fear as a kid.
my grandfather would say taryn, i knew you were
coming over so i bought you some plastic forks.
that was the joke. and the truth.

only used to eat salad out of wooden bowls.
one morning i threw up over my grandmother's
balcony, cheerios, all cheerios and milk and i
hardly ever drank milk again. i threw up
every morning in middle school. had to
change my clothes all the time, had to
run down the hallways, had to
lie in that plastic bed and wait for
my mother's car to start or some neighbor
to hear some message on an answering machine
and start their car and had to say thank you or,
if it was my mother,
go back to sleep.

i eat small things wrapped in plastic.
i've started throwing out
half-smoked cigarettes.

the smell is like ghosts.

when someone says canyoudothedishes
i've started to think but i do not eat. but i do,
i do, just not here or now.