chrysalis
first bite in an anorexic’s recovery
i’ve lost the iron sting
of leaves once devoured—
green bitterness a stain
on the backs of my teeth.
“still hungry?” cicada chuffs
from its split-shell pulpit.
my half-open mouth,
raw as nacre, tilts
toward a wind-tossed bloom.
i touch the map of my face:
caterpillar hunger, butterfly refrain
pressed behind glass.
inside, stored fat thins;
sun-blade spears my shell.
cells liquefy, re-script themselves
into trembling wing.
house lights rise.
sequined skirt, gaunt face,
i study the mirror-dark oval in front of me—
one veined leaf breathing open.
i lift it like a passport,
let chlorophyll crack
against the dark of my tongue.
Kimmy Chang
Kimmy Chang is a poet and computer vision researcher. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in trampset, Amsterdam Quarterly, Bombay Gin, and more. A recent Pushcart nominee, she lives in Texas with her husband, two chaotic fluffs, and a steadily growing army of 3D prints.
