For all the diets she was on,
And how she covered her ass with ample clothes,
How ironic god has been,
Turning her into the elephant in the room.

We thought of her during family gatherings
Until a champagne glass broke,
Or something more brittle, like
The face of my mother opening a drawer.

We went home, and we went back and we went home,
And we thought about her who no longer fit
In the blind rooms of our grief ;
Each of us felt a part of that beast.

We said : here is the breast breathing,
We said : here is the leg trampling,
We said : here is the smile crying,
And yet there was no one else but us.

Image credit : Giacomo Balla