WAISTLAND

by Grayson Chong

Forest, forest in the fall,

who’s the thinnest

of them all?

Company watched my waist waste

away day after day since

the day I refused to eat.

My limbs, like bones, become brittle.

These arms no longer hold

up the weight of others.

Flower buds and leaves used to flaunt

their vibrant blossoms to lovers

on my supple bark.

Notice how quickly I’ve grayed. My

body reeks of loss. No food

is stored inside me.

I am rooted in this border

land of living

and decay.

Forest, forest in the fall,

I’m the thinnest

of them all.