My first time

I threw up
my lemon zest break-
fast bar just to see
if I could. Coming
back up was easy:
cut the acid with milk,
chug a water, or
two, kneel down,
push back, and out spew
chunks, grainy ones that taste
the same, only softer. 

Mom had rules too:
more sauce less pasta,
fill stomach with water,
keep up your posture, don't
eat after dinnereverywoman
tricks that don't do shit. 
But I didn't know

how one time makes two
makes three makes thirty
makes esophageal lumps
from pumps that rub
a red throat more raw,
makes cocktails of MiraLAX,
makes nail beds fade blue,
makes knuckles scab black,
while chunks splash 
back onto my gray face. 

So much work
for a steady flux
of fat. The rush
that never sheds
a pound.