SARAH LILIUS

Side Effects Include a Change in Body Shape

When the Internet tells her she is an apple
shape, she agrees about the red tough skin
that’s hard to chew, the sweetness
on the inside, ultimately, she didn’t feel
like a piece of fruit.
She learns the best shape for a woman
is the hourglass, which is also the rarest.
Sands of time, her desired sultry body
for men to run hands over gently,
breaking the glass, exposing time,
is her job. She imagines the constant
tilt when turned over, to measure
how long it takes her to lose weight,
how long before they all love her.
She fears becoming a pear overnight.
Or worse yet, a rectangle, sometimes
called a banana, yellow and masculine,
peeling easily with embarrassment.
She picks up tirzepatide injections,
pushes the needle into belly fat,
the clinch and release sounds
like hope, the used metal glints
back into the device.
How funny to spend so much
time waiting to morph into
an inanimate object, to head away
from a long life as a round
Gala, an oval Granny Smith.
She’s not hungry, she’s changing,
a shape everyone wants to see,
beauty over genetics, a hot meal,
sexy as an S, curved like the spine.
She’ll find happiness, tossing
out the rotting fruit. 

Sarah Lilius is the author of the full-length poetry collection, Dirty Words (Indie Blu(e) Publishing 2021) and six chapbooks. Some of her publication credits include Fourteen Hills, Boulevard, Massachusetts Review and New South. She lives in Virginia with her husband and two sons. Her website is sarahlilius.com.