Elise Powers

LET ME TELL YOU HOW A STITCH ONLY SNAPS WHEN IT’S WORN TOO THIN

I haven’t been to yoga in months;

broke my gua sha in the sink;

didn’t eat enough protein today;

forgot to take my vitamins.

Most days, I don’t drink water

until noon. Warm lemon water? Never.

Coffee with cream and two raw sugars, please.

I do not meditate. Rarely journal.

I have sworn off ice baths and fasting

and gluten-free baking, and my god,

I have never been more well.

For so long my skin hung threadbare

from my bones—

stretched to fit any shape

but my own, mending invented holes

until my fingers bled, hands too full

of frayed edges to raise a fist.

I’ve learned that a woman

who wears herself, unaltered,

is not perfect, but free:

the loose thread

that may just unravel it all.

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